Deep Divide
by solo23
Summary: Something is lurking in the woods and people are disappearing. Will the Winchesters be able to stop it before they lose one of their own? Hurt!Dean, Worried/Hurt!Sam and John. PreSeries. Dean is 19, Sam is 15. No pairings (just Dean being Dean). Rating for violence, language
1. Chapter 1

**Owl's Head, Maine** **–December 1998**

The salty breeze from the east blew a few strands of Sam's long, brown hair over his eyes as he read, prompting Sam to tug them back roughly. It was ridiculously late and everything was annoying him. The clock was ticking so loudly he could not concentrate. The stars were twinkling too merrily. Most annoying of all was his persistent thought that his dad and Dean should be back already.

_Where are they?_ Sam was distinctly irritated. While his dad may have had a habit of becoming so wrapped up in a hunt he forgot everything else, Dean would always remember Sam. He would always remember his little brother who was sitting at home, alone, in a seedy motel worrying about his family. Dean had promised to check in if they weren't going to be back that night. Dean never broke his promises. Which is why Sam wasn't really irritated. He was worried. Sam hated being worried.

Five more minutes passed and Sam was still reading the Sam paragraph. He glanced at the clock, then at the phone. No messages. So he hadn't somehow missed the phone ringing and Dean really hadn't called yet. He had a test in the morning and he couldn't study because he couldn't focus because Dean hadn't called. Hunting was ruining everything.

Just as Sam decided to give up for the night, resolving to get up in five hours to try studying again—and hopefully find his dad and brother safely at home—he heard the rumble of an engine, which cut off, followed shortly by the sound of slamming car doors. Sam darted to the window, letting out a sigh of relief. They were back.

A scowl flashed across Dean's face momentarily in reaction to something John said. The expression was there so briefly Sam wondered if he'd imagined it and, if not, what could possibly get that response from his excessively obedient brother. Honestly, sometimes Sam wondered if Dean had been actively brainwashed by something, forcing him to follow their father's orders and conform to their father's thinking at all times. His obsession with pleasing his father was not normal, and it couldn't be healthy. Although, Dean seemed to be obsessed with making sure Sam was happy, too, so maybe it really was just a weird personality quirk.

Lost in the moment of introspection, Sam was startled when the door banged open and the weapons duffle dropped loudly to the floor beside it. John grunted in greeting and made a beeline for the fridge, where he grabbed the last beer. Dean followed him in, closing the door softly behind him.

"Hey Sammy," Dean smirked, "What are you doing up? You weren't worried, were you?"

Dean was a complete and total ass. Sam couldn't believe he had actually been concerned about the jerk five minutes ago. Obviously he shouldn't have been, his brother was fine and his dad was already working on getting drunk. Life as usual when everyone was home. The fact that they'd been hunting the ghost of an old sea captain in the Owl's Head Lighthouse, a ghost whose body had been lost at sea, was no reason for concern. Irritation and maybe a little anger coursed through Sam. Putting on his best unconcerned face, he replied, "No, why would I be worried? This is what we do. I just have a test in the morning that I was trying to study for. The entire colonial era, plus the Revolutionary War is a lot to remember and I actually care about my grades."

Dean held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, still smirking. He looked like he was going to respond, but John beat him to it, "Did you manage to find anything else about the lighthouse or the captain while we were gone? Any of his belongings still floating around? Burning the stuff at the museum didn't work."

Taking a deep breath to quell the growing irritation, Sam answered, "He was supposedly coming back to Owl's Head to unbury a box full of some family heirlooms that he was trying to keep safe. If the artifacts at the museum aren't what he's latching on to, the heirlooms could be."

"Why didn't you mention that earlier? Where is the box? We can go burn it tonight and be out of here by the end of the week," John demanded and Dean's smirk finally faded into a blank, if slightly resigned, expression that barely registered with Sam.

Sam creased his forehead and tightened his lips into a thin line of anger and disbelief. Seriously, this was his dad's idea of motivation? Berate him, then "bribe" with exactly what Sam didn't want? Sam liked it here. He liked the school with its challenging classes and engaging teachers. He liked his new friends, who could actually hold an intelligent conversation and didn't tease him for being the new kid. He liked that Dean had a job at the garage a few blocks over and couldn't hover constantly. Most of all, Sam liked that they had been here for almost the entire fall semester and there were only two weeks left of class. Sam's tone remained even in spite of his anger, "The box is supposedly buried "where the trees and the rocks meet," so probably near the rock closest to the trees. The one that had a bunch of tourists trample over it in the new tour route. That'd explain why he just started killing people. And I'm not leaving until the end of the semester. If you go, I'll just have to meet up with you later."

"You'll leave when I tell you to leave. And we're leaving this weekend," John's voice was cold and authoritative. Sam opened is mouth to continue arguing, demanding that they stay here for the two weeks because, really, it wasn't that long and it wasn't like Sam was demanding to stay for the whole year.

Before he could say anything, though, Dean cut in, "Its late. Why don't we look for the box tomorrow. First rock by the trees isn't that specific because there are a lot of trees. And rocks. And the new tour route only narrows that down by half the shoreline by the lighthouse. Once we take care of that we can talk about leaving, but Dad, it could really help if I keep my job at the garage a few more weeks. Unless you have another hunt lined up, a few weeks' cash never hurts."

John looked distinctly unhappy about Dean's disagreement, but couldn't fault the logic, and switched to whiskey. He was settling in for the night. Mildly jealous at how easily Dean was able to appease John while fighting for Sam, and inordinately happy at Dean's rare demonstration that he had a mind of his own, Sam decided that it was definitely time to call it a night. A glance at the clock showed it was already almost one in the morning. So much for his plan to get up early and study, he'd be lucky to make it to school on time.

"Night, jerk," Sam smiled as Dean replied with his own, "Night, bitch." As he walked to his small room, shared with Dean as always, he nodded a goodnight to his father as well. He would've brushed his teeth before going to bed, but Dean had darted into the bathroom to shower as soon as Sam had turned away.

SPNDEANSPNSAMSPNDEANSPNSAM

Dean let out a sigh of relieved content as hot water pounded against his aching back and shoulders. Bruises were setting in across his ribs and back, a result of being flung into walls and museum displays as he tried to haul all of the captain's crap out to the burning site. Dad had decided it probably wasn't smart to start a fire in the museum because it would probably set off the fire alarm and sprinklers, leaving them with a ghost and firefighters. And probably cops, knowing their luck. Now that he was nineteen, almost twenty, Dean really didn't want to get nailed with an arson charge. Jail was only fun if there was an escape route, because being confined anywhere was not an appealing thought. Sitting duck for all things evil, that would really suck.

As he lingered in the shower, basking in the warm water, Dean pondered what his dad had said earlier. While he claimed to have complete confidence in Dean's hunting ability, he didn't think Dean was ready to try a solo hunt. He didn't even think Dean could handle a hunt with Caleb, who had called about a possible hunt down in Texas. Succubus. It would've been awesome. While Dad had claimed that he didn't want Dean hunting alone, or with Caleb, on an extended trip because someone had to watch Sam, the kid was fifteen. At that age, Dean was already taking care of Sam and his dad, and going to school and working part time and hunting. Not to mention going to bars to hustle pool and poker every time money ran out, which it always did. No, the real reason was that despite everything, Dad still didn't trust him to get the job done.

What hurt more, surprisingly, was Sammy's comment earlier. _I actually care about my grades_. Like Dean was too lazy and stupid to get good grades while he was in school. Despite what everyone seemed to think, he wasn't stupid. He maintained a B average in school even though he was too busy to study and even after he'd dropped out, he got his GED by the time he would have graduated. Dad had required the GED and Dean hadn't even needed to study. He found the earliest test, took it, passed it, and now school was history. If he wanted to, he could apply to college. But he didn't want to, not really, He wanted to hunt and to keep his family together. Sam and Dad would kill each other if he left. Plus, normal sucked. Who wanted to be normal anyway? Other than Sam, probably no one, because normal was boring and it sucked.

Dean shut off the water and reached for his small, threadbare towel. He resolved to do better on the hunt this time around. He would find the damned box and burn it tomorrow, even if it killed him. Then, maybe, his dad would see that he was a good hunter. If not, he would find their next hunt and do all of the research before Dad recruited Sam. Then he could prove that he was perfectly capable to put together a hunt on his own and Sam could go on pretending to be normal. Happiness abounds.

He just needed to find a good enough reason to stick around this craphole for another two weeks so Sam could finish out the semester and not kill Dad. Or run away, which Dean was becoming increasingly fearful Sam would actually do. He had certainly threatened to run away enough recently. Then Dad would kill Sam, or bury him so deep in training that Sam would either run again, or cease to be the relatively normal, innocent kid Dean had worked so hard to keep. The throbbing behind Dean's eyes increased as he thought about everything he had to balance. Maybe he could find a werewolf somewhere. The full moon was three weeks away, it'd be perfect. He just had to keep his dad from finding another hunt before then.

A quick peek at the clock told Dean that it was just past one thirty. He definitely took too long in the shower. Dad was passed out on the couch, still fully dressed, muddy boots on and half empty whiskey bottle in hand. After slipping on his boxers and tee shirt, Dean wandered over to his dad and gently removed the whiskey bottle from his hand, setting it on the kitchen counter and replacing the cap. Dad would've been pissed if he woke up and it had spilled. Dean moseyed back to his dad, removing his boots and lifting his legs onto the couch before covering him with a blanket and gingerly tucking a pillow under his dad's head to prevent him from waking up with a stiff neck. Not once did his dad wake up or even move in his sleep, leaving Dean slightly concerned. He grabbed one of the guns and put it on the end table by his dad's head. If someone, or something, broke in, he wouldn't be defenseless as long as he woke up.

After a moment's indecision, Dean grabbed a knife and a gun and sat at the kitchen table and crossed his arms on the table, then rested his head on them. He had the gun tucked in the back of his boxers like usual, and the knife handle positioned centimeters from his right hand. If anyone came through that door, he'd wake up and he'd be ready. No one was screwing with his family tonight.

SPNDEANSPNSAMSPNDEANSPNSAM

Something smelled amazing. Seriously, the smell wafting into his room was absolutely heavenly. Pancakes and bacon, definitely, and maybe scrambled eggs, too. Sleep tried to call him back, but breakfast smelled too amazing to give in. Sam blinked and rubbed his eyes, trying to wake up fully so he could eat some of the blissful meal undoubtedly made by his older brother. He may not like being ditched by his dad and smothered by his brother, and moving every other week for the hunt definitely sucked, but Dean's responsibility as caretaker had led to some seriously awesome cooking skills. Not that Dean actually exercised those skills often, usually settling for Spaghettios, Chef Boyardee, or Kraft Mac 'n Cheese because of time and budget constraints. Which begged the question, why was Dean cooking now?

Only one way to find out, Sam reasoned with a sigh as he pulled himself out of the warm, if lumpy, motel bed. Running a hand through his messy, bed tousled hair, Sam shuffled out of his room and into the kitchen, where Dean was flipping pancakes onto a platter and adding more batter to the griddle pan. In a separate frying pan, bacon was sizzling to crispy perfection. Scrambled eggs were already cooked and waiting in a large serving bowl. They were extra cheesy, just the way Sam liked them. Real maple syrup was sitting on the counter, heated up, which was John's favorite. John, however, was not at the table yet. Sam wasn't even sure he was conscious. He was lying on the couch with a pillow and blanket, which Sam thought was ridiculous because the couch had a pull out bed. Or, if they were a normal family, John could have his own room with a real bed, and Sam and Dean could each have a room, and lumpy mattresses and pull out couches would be a thing of the past. But they weren't normal, so Sam just scooped up some scrambled eggs, grabbed four pancakes off Dean's platter, and snagged a couple pieces of bacon.

"Dad up yet?" Dean asked quietly as Sam grabbed his pancakes. Sam just raised an eyebrow and shook his head because, honestly, Dean could see John just as easily as Sam could. If Dean was implying he should wake John up, he could forget it. Sam would much rather eat breakfast with just Dean, or even by himself, anyway. Dean sighed audibly, and flipped the pancakes on the griddle pan before turning to Sam, "I figured breakfast would lure you out of your room. You should have a little while to study before you go to school, geekboy. I'll talk to dad about staying here for a few more weeks when he gets up, I know how much you love moving at the end of the semester."

Sensing an opportunity, Sam pressed, "Do you think you get him to stay for the rest of the year? We could stay here and you could keep working at the garage while he hunts and uses this place as a home base. Then we might actually be able to get an apartment here and save enough money to not have to pull more credit card fraud. You and dad can't help anyone if you're in jail, you know."

An odd look crossed Dean's face, a combination of amusement, pain, and maybe even sorrow, as he hesitantly replied, "Maybe the end of the calendar year, Sammy, but even that is pressing it. Dad is never going to agree to us living here without him, especially not for six months. It'd be great to have some money, but half the time we have to leave town at the end of the hunt because something happened and we're going to be arrested, you know that. I'll do my best not to get arrested or draw anyone's attention while looking for the box today, Sammy, but you know if something does happen we'll be leaving right away."

It was completely unfair. If Dean, or his dad, were careless today, Sam would have to leave. It didn't matter what he wanted, or what was best for him, all that mattered was getting rid of some stupid ghost. Sure, they'd gotten to stay after the black dog hunt that had brought them here to begin with back in the beginning of August, but that was because Dean had found out that the lighthouse was supposedly haunted. One of the guys at the garage had mentioned something about it being a tourist spot because, in Dean's words, "people are crazy and some of the nutjobs actually want to hand themselves over on a platter for the chance of a good time." A week later, when Dean stumbled across the first article about a tourist going missing while visiting the lighthouse, Sam wondered if the tourists were in more danger from his older brother than any supernatural entity. Dean was pissed. Two days later, when the tourist's body was found, Dean didn't say anything, but Sam could tell he was blaming himself, adding another death that wasn't his fault to his tally. Sam was glad to see he cared because sometimes he though Dean flirted a little too much with the line of being a sociopath, but he wished his brother would stop blaming himself for things that clearly were not his fault. The lighthouse ghost had been dead for over a century and, while there were the haunting rumors, no one had ever died.

"You won't get caught doing anything, Dean," Sam sighed, "I just wish we could settle down for once. Even if its not here, I wouldn't mind moving in with Pastor Jim or Uncle Bobby. Schools are better here, but anywhere stable would be better than moving all the time."

"I know, Sammy," Dean replied, exasperation creeping into his voice, "but dad likes to keep us with him. We're family, and we're all we've got, so we have to stick together, even when you're driving us crazy."

Dean's aversion to chick flick moments was still intact, then. Sam swiped some more pancakes and bacon, drowning them in the maple syrup. With a frown, Sam asked, "Aren't you going to eat? You didn't do anything to this, did you? I have a test, it's not a good day to start a prank war."

Dean laughed, "No pranks, I promise. I'm not suicidal and dad is eating this food, too, as soon as he wakes up. I was going to wait for him so I could talk, but I was really hoping he'd be up by now. _When_ I prank you, you'll know it. And it won't be something that could affect dad, too. Or me, for that matter, 'cause I'm not stupid enough to prank myself."

Sam rolled his eyes, stuffing in a mouthful of pancake. Dean was ridiculous sometimes. Sam had no doubt Dean would pull a prank that looked like it would affect him, too, just to lull Sam into a false sense of security. Hell, Dean was crazy enough to actually follow through with pranking himself if Sam called him on his bluff. Before he came up with any sort of retort, John twitched and made a grunting noise, then sat up. Dean was already filling up a plate for John and pouring coffee. John grumbled a "thanks" as he dug in, not waiting for Dean to return for a plate of breakfast of his own. _Sometimes_, Sam thought_, Dad can be incredibly rude. He has to know Dean waited for him, why couldn't he return the favor?_

Slightly repulsed by the scrambled egg caught in John's beard, Sam excused himself to go study. Dean looked a little disappointed, but Sam wasn't sure why. He knew Dean had made breakfast for John, probably trying to butter him up so he would agree to stay for a few extra weeks. Sam's presence would just remind the man that staying would make Sam happy, which John seemed morally opposed to for some reason. Dean would say Sam was being ridiculous. Sam knew Dean was just blinded by his faith in their father. John didn't want them to be happy or normal. He wanted them to be soldiers in a never-ending, unwinnable battle against evil. Sam dropped his empty plate in the sink and grabbed his clothes for the day before going into the bathroom for a shower.

SPNDEANSPNSAMSPNDEANSPNSAM

"You look tired. Did you ever go to bed last night?" Dad asked between bites, his critical eye picking up the bags that were forming under Dean's eyes and his paler-than-normal complexion that made his freckles stand out.

Dean picked at his breakfast for a moment, reluctantly replying, "I slept and I'm fine. If its okay, I thought we could find the box and Caleb really needs help with the succubus in Texas—"

"I know you want to hunt on your own, Dean, but we've talked about this," his dad cut in gruffly, "Your brother needs you. I need you to be here and I'll need you for the next hunt when I find it."

Dean tried desperately to keep his face blank, to keep the hurt and frustration off at his father's belief that not only could he not handle hunting with Caleb, but that he couldn't even follow his dad's orders to drop the subject. Calmly, Dean continued, "Yes, sir, but I think you should go help Caleb. He called again earlier and he said it's a two-man job. We have the truck now, so we can split up temporarily. I can keep working at the garage and make a little more money while I look for another hunt. Sammy and I can do the research and be ready to go, or meet up with you, when you're done."

"Sounds like you've put a lot of thought into this," Dean was practically glowing at the compliment, "but don't think I don't realize this conveniently lets Sam stay in school for a few more weeks. Is that the real reason you came up with all this?"

"What's wrong with everyone being happy? Sam just wants to be normal for a while and it's almost the end of the semester, so it really makes more sense to stay. Besides, when I decided to get my GED instead of finishing high school, you're the one who said education is important," Dean reasoned, hoping his dad would agree. He wasn't looking forward to Sam's attitude if Dad didn't go along with it. Staying here seemed ridiculously important to Sam, and Dean just wanted the kid to be happy. It seemed like he had been in a constant state of misery for the last few years and it had gotten worse after Truman High last year.

Dad sighed and rubbed his eyes, obviously searching for some sort of counterargument. Dean hoped his logic would hold because he really didn't have a backup plan. After a moment, his dad agreed, "We'll try it. As long as nothing goes wrong today and we don't have to leave town, I'll let you take care of Sam here while I go help Caleb in Texas. You will find a new hunt and I want details by next week. Location, disappearances, theory of what's causing it, how to kill it, everything. You will make sure Sam keeps up with his training, don't let him slack off. Don't hunt anything on your own, just keep me informed. If anything goes wrong, you know what to do."

Dean grinned broadly as he replied, "Yes, sir."

He actually had a chance to take the lead on a hunt. Usually, although Dad had no problem leaving him and Sam alone for a few weeks at a time on a hunt, he found hunts on his own. Dean was relegated to Sam's caretaker and occasionally research help, but Sam usually did more of the research because he actually enjoyed it. Occasionally Dean would find a hunt and tell his dad, but it was usually given to one of his dad's hunter friends who would do all of the research and take care of the problem. Dad's friends never called Dean for research help and, with the exceptions of Caleb, Pastor Jim, Bobby, and maybe Joshua, they all thought Dean was too young and, frankly, too much of a "pretty boy" to be helpful in a hunt. It was part of the reason Dean wanted a solo hunt so badly. He needed to prove to himself, and everyone else, that he was just as capable as any other hunter.

Dean started clearing the table and washing the dishes as the shower shut off, prompting his dad to start searching for clean clothes for after his own shower. Sam left the bathroom, glancing at Dean as he walked by, clearly wondering how the discussion with Dad went. Dean grinned and nodded, leaving Sam practically bouncing in excitement. It was good to see the kid smile, he didn't do it enough lately.

Finishing the dishes, Dean started to consider the problem of actually finding the box of heirlooms. He doubted it would be marked, but checking for some sort of maritime symbol couldn't hurt. The best option would probably be a metal detector, but he wasn't sure where to find one. Maybe his dad would know. Or maybe Sammy would know. They were both better with those kinds of details. Dean preferred to strategize how to kill the fugly, not to research and look for the tools. If they didn't know, he would ask around. People were always wandering the beach with metal detectors in movies, someone should know where to get one. They were on a beach, after all. Okay, so it was more of a shoreline than a beach, but whatever. It was close enough that someone should have a metal detector. Mostly Dean hoped it wouldn't start snowing again. The search for buried treasure was kind of awesome, but hunting for buried treasure in snow just added to the amount of digging he had to do. There would be enough difficulty because of the frozen ground, no need to add any.

The clock's noisy ticking became obnoxious as soon as he turned off the faucet. A glance at the cause of his annoyance told Dean it was time to get Sam to school. Just as he started to walk toward the room, Sam emerged with his overstuffed backpack, ready to go. His earlier excitement about staying for the semester seemed to have faded into nervousness about his test if the slightly constipated expression was anything to go by. The kid worried about his grades way too much. They didn't really matter and everyone knew Sam was the smart one. Even if he got a B in something, Dean was sure he would blow any standardized test out of the water and get into college anyway. If he applied, and Dean was pretty sure he would. Sam wanted out of hunting and wasn't exactly subtle about it.

"Ready?" Dean asked, grabbing his keys and handing a brown bag lunch to his brother.

"Yeah," Sam replied, definitely nervous. Yeah, the kid worried way too much. It was one test and it was history. Sam knew history. He used to entertain himself by reading about the history of the states they were moving to, or the history of the US as a whole, or really anything geek-like all the time. And Dean knew that Sam knew what he was talking about because he used to inform his brother and dad about what he thought was most important or most interesting. There was no way Sam would fail the test. At worst, Dean was guessing he'd get an A-, which was still pretty awesome.

"Stop worrying, Sammy," Dean mock-ordered. Then, smirking, he asked, "Want me to quiz you on the way to school? I bet I can think of some good history questions."

Sam laughed and rolled his eyes, exactly as Dean had intended, "I don't think any of your favorite history facts will make the test. I think I'm ready. Or at least I'm as ready as I'm going to be. Thanks for talking to dad, don't know how you did it but at least he listened to you."

Dean pulled up in front of the school, wishing Sam good luck on his test and telling him that he'd be back after school. He watched Sam walk into school before leaving the parking lot and driving home, to the annoyance of some of the parents dropping off their kids. Whatever, he wasn't leaving until he knew Sam made it in the building. He wasn't letting anything happen to Sam on his watch. It was bad enough that he wasn't in school to watch the kid anymore.

Dad was heading to the parking lot when Dean got back to the motel. He had somehow obtained a metal detector, which was a relief because Dean really wasn't sure where to get one. Dean pulled into his parking spot carefully, getting out of the Impala and asking, "Ready to go? Which car?"

"We'll take the truck. Let's go," Dad ordered. Dean loved the Impala and was happy to leave her out of harms way. The lighthouse ghost had a tendency to cause destruction and cars in the parking lot were in the line of fire. Dean locked the door before shutting it and stuffing the keys in the pocket of his leather jacket.

"Yes, sir," Dean replied as he climbed into the passenger side of his father's truck. Unable to resist, Dean asked, "Where'd you find the metal detector?"

"Neighbor had one. He was looking for coins and wants a cut of whatever we find, if we find anything," Dad replied, tone indicating how ridiculous he thought the metal-detector-wielding neighbor was. If they did find the ghost's treasure, there was no way they were sharing any of it. It would burn.

Companionable silence descended for the rest of the drive to the lighthouse. Dad wasn't much of a talker and Dean was perfectly content with silence. He preferred music, but his dad had opted not to turn on the radio and driver picks the music. Dean stared out the window, watching the beautiful, if slightly snow covered, Maine landscape flashed by. Thankfully, it wasn't snowing again and there wasn't much on the ground.

The lighthouse was just far enough from the motel that Dean's eyelids began to droop before they arrived. Nearly asleep, he was startled when the truck came to a halt in the lighthouse parking lot. Quickly brushing away all signs of exhaustion, Dean opened the door and hopped out of the truck. He followed his dad around to the back to grab a canister of salt and a tire iron that could be used to repel ghosts. Typically ghosts weren't a problem during the day, but why take chances if you don't have to? Dad grabbed a canister and an iron pole before leading the way to the trees on the new tour route. Dean trailed behind, wary of any movement. If it were a ghost, Dean would take care of it. If it were a group of chattering tourists, he would distract the group while his dad hid their more questionable items.

SPNDEANSPNSAMSPNDEANSPNSAM

Historical facts whirled around Sam's brain as he attempted to finish the test before class ended. Of course his teacher, Mr. Whitmore, had decided to talk about his cat and her newborn kittens for the first ten minutes of class, eating away at precious test-taking time. Mr. Whitmore was a young teacher, only in his late twenties, with light brown hair and piercing blue eyes. His gaze practically oozed intelligence, but he loved teaching too much to try for a high paying career. Although he was pudgy, single, and had more cats than any cat lady Sam had ever met, Sam thought Mr. Whitmore was the coolest person he had ever met. He didn't care about money and did what he loved, in spite of his family's wishes. He went to Harvard. He knew every trivia fact Sam had ever found about US history and then some. He was Sam's new hero.

Besides, the test was supposed to take forty minutes and the class was fifty minutes long. In other classes the teachers gave them the extra ten minutes, but Sam liked Mr. Whitmore enough to give him a pass this time. Sam had always liked dogs more than cats, though, so he really would've preferred one of Mr. Whitmore's college stories. Crap, he was getting off-topic again. It wouldn't be so bad if Mr. Whitmore gave multiple-choice tests like most of the other teachers. Instead, he gave a test with a short answer section and two essay questions because he said it was more realistic to the college experience and this particular class was Advanced Placement, which could count for college credit if the students passed the AP test in May. Sam desperately wanted to stay so he could take the AP tests for almost all of his classes this year, but it didn't seem likely. Hopefully wherever they ended up next the school would offer the same AP classes so he could get college credit.

The bell rang just as Sam was finishing his last sentence. Sam put his pencil back in his backpack and brought his test up to the front on the way out. Most of the class had finished early, leaving Sam as the last person in class. As he placed his test reverently on the top of the stack, Mr. Whitmore asked, "Have you been thinking about college, Mr. Winchester? Your paper was outstanding and I'm sure your test will be similarly delightful to grade. I would gladly write a letter of recommendation if you would like."

Sam felt the heat rising in his cheeks at the compliment, replying, "I would love to go to college, Mr. Whitmore. I think I want to go to Stanford, or maybe UCLA. Maybe even the University of Texas. Stanford would be my first choice, though. I would be honored to have a letter of recommendation from you, but I think my family is going to move again soon. I'm not even sure where I'll be when I start applying to college."

Mr. Whitmore looked mildly distressed at the news that Sam might be leaving, but told him, "I have no doubt you'll get into whatever school you want to, and Stanford is excellent. The climate is a lot nicer, too, at all the schools you mentioned. Do you have a student directory? My office phone number is listed. Whenever you apply to college, wherever you are, just give me a call and tell me where to send the letter. Someone with potential like yours, Mr. Winchester, deserves to shine."

"Thank you, Mr. Whitmore! I'll be sure to give you a call. Thank you!" Sam exclaimed, once again picturing his college dream. His grades were excellent in spite of his family's propensity for moving before they had gotten settled in any particular area, and now he had one teacher who offered to write a letter of recommendation for him. Mr. Whitmore had gotten his bachelor's degree from Harvard, so Sam figured it would carry some weight. He could go to sunny California and actually live in the same town for four years, maybe more. He could make friends and keep them and forget about hunting. He could be normal. Maybe he could bring Dean and Dean could work at a garage nearby, or apply to a community college. They could live together again, but not worry about hunting. Without John and his orders, surely Dean would be less overprotective. It would be perfect. They could be normal and happy.

Full of hope for the future, Sam hurried to his next class. The bell rang as he slid into his seat, prompting his friend, Mike, to grin at him. Mrs. Temple, the Algebra 2 teacher, was notorious for awarding tardy slips to anyone who wasn't in their seat as the bell rang. Mrs. Temple, to be frank, was Sam's oldest and most strict teacher. He had hoped, when he walked in and saw the elderly woman, that she would be the grandmotherly type. She wasn't. She distinctly reminded him of the stories about nuns who hit students with rulers for any infraction. Sam would dearly love to see a parent-teacher conference between Mrs. Temple and John because he honestly wasn't sure who would win if they got into an argument. John was stubborn and scary, but Sam was sure Mrs. Temple could hold her own. She had raised three children on her own after her husband died and none of them had ever gotten into any sort of trouble outside of their home. They had all gone to Ivy League schools and were now incredibly successful in their careers. Mrs. Temple's eldest was a US Senator for Maine. Mrs. Temple was scary, but if he could get a letter of recommendation from her, too, and a good score on the SAT, he would definitely get into Stanford.

Thoughts of college kept Sam occupied until lunch. Sam claimed his usual spot, pulling out the brown paper bag containing the lunch Dean had packed for him. Since he had gotten his job at the garage, Dean enjoyed surprising Sam with a real lunch instead of cafeteria food on occasion. Sam qualified for the free lunch program, as had Dean while at school, and it was nice to have a break from the questionable foods often produced by the cafeteria. Sam cheerfully pulled out a turkey sandwich, loaded with vegetables, an apple, a bag of chips, a granola bar, and, at the bottom, still in the individually packaged container, a slice of cherry pie. As he pulled out his water bottle and began devouring the lunch his brother had thoughtfully packed, containing more "rabbit food" than Sam thought Dean would ever consider decent, Mike took the seat beside him.

"Did you hear about the body that showed up? Dad said it was over by the lighthouse again and it was that tourist that just went missing. Something is going on, it's too weird. I think someone is trying to amp up visits to the lighthouse by peddling that ghost crap," Mike said, grinning far too broadly for someone discussing the discovery of a body. Sam knew it wasn't real to the rail thin blond beside him, but he was disturbed nonetheless. The tourist that had been found was one that Dean had taken particularly hard. She was the third tourist to go missing and turn up dead a few days later. By the time she had gone missing, Dean and John had already been on the trail of the ghost and Dean claimed fascination with lighthouses so he could join an inordinate number of lighthouse tours. He had met the woman, a twenty-two year old college senior with long brown hair and naïve blue eyes. She had been studying Exercise Sports Science and was pre-Physical Therapy. Dean had gotten her phone number and was supposed to have a date with her the night she went missing. Dean had left the tour early to go to work and the woman had disappeared within fifteen minutes of his departure. Sam couldn't remember ever seeing his brother so devastated.

"Yeah, I heard. I hope it stops soon," Sam replied sincerely. He really did hope the hunt wrapped up soon. Everyone at school was talking about the disappearances and not being able to stop it was killing Dean, so Sam would gladly see the ghost cross over. Then he could enjoy a couple weeks of normal school, line up his letters of recommendation, and prepare for moving. Dean would be less stressed, too, and maybe they could see a movie this weekend. Or, if nothing else, a de-stressed Dean had fewer mother hen tendencies. By the time Sam tuned back in to the conversation, a few more of his friends had arrived and the topic had shifted to school gossip. While he embraced normal, gossip just wasn't his thing.

The rest of the day passed quickly and, by the time the final bell rang, Sam had become increasingly curious about how the hunt was going. He did not want anyone else to go missing while Dean believed they were on his watch. Besides, if the hunt was over, John would be leaving and it would just be him and Dean. Sam, while disapproving of his father's tendency to abandon his children, always preferred Dean's company and his father usually just made everything tense. Sam never knew how to respond to John and they never agreed on anything. He'd rather live with Dean alone. Sam said goodbye to his friends as the Impala rolled up, then walked briskly to his brother.

"So, how'd it go?" Sam asked as he opened the door. Dean's grin told him all he needed to know.

SPNDEANSPNSAMSPNDEANSPNSAM

The end of the hunt had been distinctly anti-climatic. After all the research on the stupid ghost, and the inability to save Ally and the other two tourists, Dean couldn't believe defeating the ghost had been so easy. Dad had manned the metal detector and Dean had only needed to provide a distraction once, which was done easily by flirting with the tour guide and giving his own version of the tour. The three tourists and the guide were all in hysterics by the end and the tour guide had mentioned that if he wanted her job, she would put in a recommendation. Dean had laughed it off because he would much rather work at a garage than be a tour guide. By the time he had returned to his dad, the box was unburied and Dad was about to torch it. The ghost hadn't even shown up to defend it until the last moment, at which point all Dean had to do was drop a lighter on the box while his dad struck out at the ghost with his iron pole, causing it to vanish. Moments later, it reappeared, only to dissolve into flame as the contents of the box burned. The entire process took less than two hours.

"I'm heading out," Dad announced as soon as they arrived at the motel. Dean had noticed the duffle in the truck, but had chosen not to comment. He knew his dad would leave for the hunt as soon as he could. As Dean climbed out of the truck, his dad spoke again, "Remember what we agreed. You're finding the next hunt and taking care of the research, but you aren't hunting alone. Make sure your brother trains. Watch out for your brother. I'll see you in a few weeks."

"Yes, sir, I will. Good luck," Dean replied, shutting the door of the truck. He had a few hours to kill before he needed to pick up Sammy. Dean briefly considered going to the library to start searching for the next hunt, but ultimately decided he was too tired. Instead, he ate a small lunch before flopping on the couch and turning on the television. He also set the small alarm clock on the end table to go off half an hour before he needed to pick up Sammy. He wasn't going to let anyone else down this week.

The alarm went off so soon after Dean closed his eyes he thought he might have set the wrong time. A glance at the clock killed that hope and Dean traipsed into the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face. It was a good thing he didn't have to work at the garage today, he probably would have accidentally messed up someone's car. Pulling on his leather jacket and grabbing his keys, he headed out to pick up Sammy.

Noticing Sammy's inquiring gaze as he pulled up in the Impala, Dean smiled. He knew his little brother wanted confirmation that the hunt was over. He probably also hoped to get confirmation that their dad was gone. He'd consider the irony of Sammy wanting their dad to leave, but getting pissed off when he did, some other time. Or never. It usually just gave him a headache and a foreboding feeling about the future.

"So, how'd it go?" Sam asked as soon as he opened the door. Dean just grinned, giving Sam his answer. As they pulled out of the parking lot, Sam began asking for more details and Dean obliged. It was shocking how easily the hunt had ended. Frankly, it made Dean feel incompetent. He should have wrapped it up a month ago.

"What's the plan now?" Sam asked, ever eager to have a plan. Dean shrugged, not entirely sure what they were going to do.

"We have to run and practice hand-to-hand for a couple hours tonight and we're going to get dinner, but it is a Thursday. I know you have homework and all good geekboys do their homework," Dean teased as Sam scowled. He knew Sam would try to get out of training, he always did. He also knew that prying Sam away from his homework was going to be a pain in the ass. He would have to check, but there might be enough groceries left for him to make a real dinner. Hamburgers or spaghetti or something, but more than canned dinner.

Sam was wearing his bitchface. Crap. This was going to suck. "You know, Dad isn't here. We don't have to train all the time. We're already in better shape than anyone at school and we know each other too well for training to be helpful. We can do something else, like watch a movie or something. Dad doesn't have to know and you don't always have to do what he tells you. He's your dad, not your drill sergeant."

"Sam," Dean bit out, barely containing his exasperation, "we have to follow orders because it saves lives. We have to train so we can help Dad hunt. Dad only agreed to leave us here, to let you finish out the semester, because I promised that we would keep training. "

As Dean parked the Impala, he instructed Sam to change into his workout clothes. The sooner they finished the better. Dean really just wanted to eat some dinner and go to sleep. Sam huffed all the way to the motel room, grumbling about how ridiculous it was that his adult brother still obeyed their absent father to a fault. Dean tried not to let the tidbits he overheard bother him, but sometimes he couldn't help it. Sam could be thoughtless sometimes. Dean was starting to look forward to hand-to-hand, maybe he'd give Sam a reason to start paying as much attention to training as he did to his schoolwork.

SPNDEANSPNSAMSPNDEANSPNSAM

To Sam's delight, Dean decided that training the next day wasn't necessary. Instead, he picked up Sam half an hour after school got out, right after he got off work, and took him out to a movie. Sam got to choose the movie, and the movie snacks. He knew Dean was trying to make him feel better about having to train and give him a night of the normalcy he craved.

Saturday morning, at an hour Sam had believed Dean didn't know existed, Dean woke him by dumping a cup of water on his head. It was cold water and Sam was fairly certain there were a few ice cubes in there, too. The moment the first drop of icy water hit Sam's cheek, he jerked away, but wasn't fast enough to avoid the rest of the water. Oh, it was on. Dean was going to regret that.

Glaring, Sam demanded, "What the hell was that for? Its four in the morning, why are you waking me up?"

Infuriatingly, Dean just smirked and replied, "I couldn't sleep, so I thought we could get training out of the way. Get up and be ready in five minutes."

Dean, who usually stayed up late but refused to get out of bed before seven unless it was for a hunt, was actually awake and functional at four in the morning. It was unbelievable. He would choose a Saturday to pull this crap. Yeah, Sam was definitely going to get revenge.

Three hours later, Sam dragged himself back into the room, but was blocked from the shower by Dean. He was such a jerk! Sam couldn't believe his brother was actually capable of making training more intense than John did, but apparently it was possible. Sam doubted he would be able to move for the rest of the day. Or tomorrow. He'd probably still be struggling on Monday.

The jerk emerged from the shower, no signs of soreness in his stride. As he spotted Sam's sprawled form on the couch, he asked, "Still think you don't need to train?"

Then, he smirked. The asshole had the nerve to smirk. It was unbelievable. Sometimes Sam couldn't believe he was actually related to his dad or brother. They were completely insane. Who runs for two hours, with intermittent push-ups, crunches, lunges, squats, and pull-ups, then does hand-to-hand, no holding back? It was crazy. It wasn't like most of the supernatural entities they encountered could be defeated in a fistfight. Usually they had to be killed with something specific, like silver, or salting and burning the bones or cursed object, or something like that. True, they got thrown around a lot, and running ability was helpful, but most of the training just seemed like a waste of time. Sam was not going to tell Dean that, though. He had no interest in three or four hours of weapons training. Or another day like today. Yeah, from now on Sam was keeping his complaints to himself.

Sam felt his eyes drifting closed and decided to ignore Dean's laughter. He'd get his brother back later. For now, he was exhausted and he doubted he could move if he tried. The jerk did earn a little redemption, however, when he brought a glass of water over to the couch and set it on the end table instead of dumping it on Sam's face again. With that thought, Sam slipped into the blissful oblivion of dreams.

SPNDEANSPNSAMSPNDEANSPNSAM

Dean chuckled to himself as Sam passed out on the couch. The kid had kept up better than Dean had expected. Despite all his protests about training, Dean knew their dad went easy on his little brother. Dad hated the idea of taking away the last of Sam's innocence as much as Dean did. While Dad firmly believed Sam needed to embrace the hunting life, he never wanted Sam to hunt alone. Sam, in turn, wanted nothing to do with hunting. The result was relatively lax training. Sure, Sammy had to learn hand-to-hand combat and staying in good shape, but Dad probably would have demanded that even if they weren't hunters. Sam also had weapons training, but it was nowhere near as extensive as the training Dean had received by the age of fifteen.

Preparing brunch, Dean decided to let Sam wake up on his own. He would love to dump water on Sammy's face again, his expression this morning had been priceless, but doing it twice in the same day just wasn't cool. From the way Sammy had flinched when he brought the glass of water over, he was expecting it, anyway. With a sigh, Dean noted that they were almost out of groceries again. They would have to make do for a few days on canned dinner and Lucky Charms because Dad stopped leaving money for them when Dean had a job.

As the scrambled eggs and hamburgers finished cooking, Dean noticed Sam moving on the couch. He'd be awake in a minute. Food and coffee were sure ways to wake up Sam on the rare occasions he slept in. As Sam sat up, Dean could hear his low moan of pain.

"A little sore, there, Sammy?" Dean asked, tone distinctly mocking. He couldn't help it, it was so easy to wind his little brother up sometimes. Sammy responded with his trademark bitchface and wandered into the kitchen. Assembling a scrambled egg hamburger and grabbing a cup of coffee, Sam was moving like a zombie. Dean almost felt bad for the training session this morning. It was Dean's usual workout with his dad, but Sam didn't have quite the same level of conditioning as Dean did.

As Sam continued his zombie impression on his way to the table, Dean filled up his own plate and joined him. Sam, looking distinctly disgruntled, asked, "So, what are we doing today? Nothing that involves moving, right?"

"I have to go to the library. If you're feeling up to it you can come with," Dean replied with a smirk, knowing that Sam would never turn down a trip to the library. It didn't matter how much pain he was in, if Sam had a chance to go read a book, he would. No question. So when Sam just rolled his eyes and asked if he could shower first, Dean smiled and approved the shower idea. Getting kicked out of the library for body odor was counterproductive.

Once they arrived at the library, Dean headed toward the computers to see if they had internet access. If not, the search for a new hunt was going to be a pain. He wanted to prove he could do it on his own, but short of traveling around randomly looking at newspapers, his only option would be to call someone. That would probably get back to his dad and defeat the purpose. Sam, on the other hand, had brought his backpack and found a spot at a table. He clearly planned to study, which for once was fine by Dean. This, Dean decided, was something he needed to do alone.

Fortunately, the computer had internet access. Dean started searching for people with missing hearts because werewolves were awesome. Nothing turned up, unfortunately in Dean's opinion because he loved a werewolf hunt. He continued searching for unusual deaths and disappearances and found something odd in Tomahawk, Wisconsin. People were disappearing from snowmobile trails that went through the woods. There were rumors that there were odd noises coming from the same wooded areas. No bodies were found. The weirdest part, in Dean's opinion, was that whatever was out there seemed to be discriminating. It only took people who could be considered beautiful. Other travelers would emerge injured, confused, and unable to indentify their attacker, but did not take them.

A small smile graced Dean's lips as he decided that this definitely sounded like a case. He would start really researching tomorrow, as the library was getting ready to close and Sammy would be getting hungry and impatient soon, but he did it. This was his chance and he just might prove himself to everyone.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Owl's Head, Maine, December 18, 1998**

Research wasn't going well. Dean sighed and ran his fingers through his short, sandy blond hair as he tried to put the pieces together. People disappearing in the woods, especially in the north, usually pointed to a Wendigo. It couldn't be a Wendigo, though. Wendigos ate whoever came their way, unless that person seriously pissed them off. Then it would just kill the person. So, not a Wendigo.

His next theory, though a bit Hansel and Gretel for his taste, was some sort of witch living in the forest. Lore existed for witches draining youth and beauty from people to make themselves young and beautiful. Hell, some witches fed on life force. The shtriga was one of those, but it went after children and liked to be in the middle of a town, not off in the woods. Hell, most of the witches Dean had encountered preferred living in town. Unfortunately, a Hansel and Gretel style witch living in the woods was currently his best theory. Maybe it ate the people it thought looked good (maybe young, attractive people taste better?), or maybe it kept them in some sort of twisted slavery.

With a frustrated sigh, Dean delved into the different types of witches. There were a few that lived in the woods, like the Vilia, but he wasn't sure about the lore behind them. From what he gathered, they lived in the woods and lured in travelers in a vain attempt to find their true love. It made some sense that they would choose someone young and attractive, but who knows what qualities they thought would be attractive. If the Vilia could turn into beautiful women, but usually looked hideous, would they be going after conventionally attractive people? Why attack the other people? Why were they going after people of all ages and genders?

The urge to bang his head against the table grew stronger. Dean's jaw clenched as he tried to figure out what had happened to those people. It would be easier if he could do some recon, see what he was dealing with. Maybe there were clues in the forest that the witnesses hadn't noticed.

"Still researching?" Sammy asked as he walked into the library. He looked smug, although Dean wasn't sure if that was from the report card clutched in his left hand or the sight of his older brother trying not to kill the computer.

"Yeah," He replied shortly, not in the mood to discuss his inability to figure out what exactly they would soon be hunting. Rubbing his eyes, Dean decided it was time for a break. And maybe time to run his theory by Sammy. First, though, he needed to figure out why the kid was looking so smug. "How'd you do? Straight A's like always?"

Sammy threw a mild glare his way before replying, "Yes, as a matter of fact, I did get straight A's. And I don't always, half the time I end up with incompletes because we move too often and my grades on file transfer, but unless we just had a progress report or a report card, no one at the new school knows that I'd gotten A's on everything between the last report and moving."

Yeah, sometimes he needed to just keep his mouth shut. Sammy was such a pissy teenager. Sometimes he got the feeling Sammy lumped him in with Dad in the "people who make my life miserable" category. Awesome. He couldn't even make Sammy happy anymore. Raising his hands in mock surrender, Dean countered, "No need to get defensive, geek boy. It was a friggin compliment. Wanna hit Stella's to celebrate?"

The tension drained out of Sammy's stance and he smiled sheepishly while nodding. As they left for Stella's Diner, which was just down the block, Sammy turned to him, "I know you're doing this 'cause you need a research break. How's the homework going, anyway?"

Dean rolled his eyes. It wasn't homework, it was research! Okay, so maybe it was homework, but it definitely wasn't school related. Dean was glad he got out of there when he did.

"Not well," Dean admitted after a moment's pause, "I think it's a witch, maybe a Vilia, but I'm not sure. All I have to go on is young, attractive people disappearing in the woods in Wisconsin and the older…less attractive people coming out hurt. Badly. Like they were mauled or something."

"Hmm," Sammy responded pensively. His eyebrows furred as he concentrated, probably searching his giant, geek-boy brain for something he'd heard of before. He wouldn't find anything, though. Dean had already read Dad's journal and hadn't found anything. If they fought it, it went in the journal. Shaking his head and curling a lip in frustration, Sammy finally said, "I don't know, man. I could see the Vilia being connected to the people disappearing. They're usually forest dwellers and they're looking for a nonexistent true love, but I can't see them mauling someone. And usually it'd be a more focused pattern. I can't think of anything else it could be, though. Want me to help research tomorrow?"

His eyebrows raised involuntarily in surprise when Sammy offered to help research a hunt. Recently, getting Sammy to do anything that had even the slightest connection with hunting required a lot of persuasion. And ice cream. And movies. An offer coming out of nowhere couldn't bode well. The kid probably wanted something, and it was probably something that would get Dean in trouble with their dad.

Whatever, maybe Sammy would find something he couldn't. Saving people was more important than his pride and he'd put off getting Sammy's help for too long already. He knew research wasn't his strong point. Putting together a pattern was no problem, neither was killing the son of a bitch, but Dean was better at researching through recon and witness accounts than digging through old books and websites. He just hoped Sammy wasn't going to ask for something he couldn't give in exchange for his help.

"Yeah, thanks Sammy," Dean replied as they walked into the diner. He claimed their usual booth and waited for the waitress, Amy, to wander over.

Sammy just nodded and looked at the menu, trying to find something remotely healthy from a place that specialized in greasy burgers. Dean wasn't sure why he'd bothered considering they'd been to the diner at least once a week since they came to Owl's Head back in August. It wasn't like the menu was suddenly going to change and include healthier choices.

"So, have you heard from Dad?" Sam asked hesitantly. He picked at his napkin-wrapped silverware and wouldn't look Dean in the eye. Classic for a worried Sammy who didn't want to admit he was worried. In all fairness, Dean was worried, too.

Scowling, Dean replied, "No. He hasn't called since last weekend. It's probably just the hunt, he doesn't have time to call every day. And Caleb's there, he'd tell us if Dad was hurt."

As they ordered their food, Dean tried to convince himself that he believed what he'd told Sam. He tried not to think about the possibility that the succubus had gotten the drop on both Dad and Caleb. They were good hunters, they would be fine. They had to be.

SPNDEANSPNSAMSPNDEANSPNSAM

**Lubbock, Texas, December 18, 1998**

John groaned as he struggled back to consciousness. He remembered going after the succubus with Caleb last night, but everything after walking into Louie Louie's Piano Bar was a blank. Sure, he'd probably had a few beers, but nothing to cause a blackout, not while he was hunting. Raising a hand to rub his eyes, John slowly sat up. Everything ached.

Wincing as his apparently bruised ribs changed position, John scanned the room. "Caleb? You okay?"

A groan came from the other bed as Caleb sat up. Blood trickled down the side of his face, originating from a cut on his temple. He reached up to brush away the small stream, probably annoyed by the sensation. He leveled a glassy stare at John, "Yeah, other than the headache I'm fine. Any idea what happened?"

John shook his head, still unable to remember anything that happened the night before. Jeez, this case was giving him on hell of a headache. He'd gotten to Lubbock a little over a week ago exhausted from a three-day drive. He and Caleb had tried to pinpoint the succubus's feeding grounds, but the bitch moved around a lot. She seemed to make the rounds, hit all the bars and clubs. She also had a few deaths out by the Strip, probably targeting the people buying alcohol for parties and drinking at home. Hell, John hadn't even known about the deaths out there until he drove out to buy a case of beer.

"Succubus couldn't get us both at the same time," John pointed out, hating his own logic. Sincerely wishing he'd bought more beer while he was out at the Strip, he asked, "Did you find any signs of anything else while you were researching? Ever heard of succubi working with something else?"

"No," Caleb replied, running a hand over his buzz cut. He shook his head, looking up at the ceiling, "I don't know. There's nothing in the lore that says a succubus will work with anything else. From what I found, they're territorial, hate anything else getting in their space. Maybe she's making thralls."

John nodded, running a hand over his mouth, "Yeah, that makes sense. She thralls a couple locals, they run around doing her dirty work. They bring people for her to feed on, eliminate any threats. Or at least let her know."

"Damn," Caleb swore, "If you're right that bitch knows we're here. This is going to get even harder."

John sighed and wandered to the wall to reexamine the information they had so far. There had to be something there. Nothing was impossible to track and the succubus wasn't that careful. Unfortunately, she also didn't like to stick to a pattern. Young, old, male, female, everyone was fair game for her. She went to the bars, clubs, the Strip, and the occasional house party. The only common factors were alcohol and the smile on the victim's face. At least they died happy.

"This whole thing seems wrong," John growled, "Every succubus I've ever gone after has had a pattern. They have preferences. Maybe they'll do a little indiscriminate killing if they can't find their preferred prey in their hunting ground that night, but there's usually one type of person they target more than another. I've never seen them spread out their feeding grounds so much, either."

Caleb grabbed a cotton ball and poured some rubbing alcohol over it before bringing it up to the cut on his temple. "And the thrall theory doesn't fully explain that. The thralls themselves can't leave a succubus kill. Witnesses have these people leaving shortly before they're found. I dunno, could we be dealing with multiples?"

"It's the only thing that makes sense," John replied, hating to agree with the assessment that would make their job a hell of a lot harder. A succubus hunt was hard enough, especially in a college town. You couldn't narrow it down simply by people throwing themselves at someone because the bars were full of people doing that. The best way to find them was to stalk their grounds and watch anyone who may be their type. This hunt sucked. No wonder Caleb had called Dean to try to get backup. Now that he was here and this hunt had turned sideways, he was glad he insisted on Dean staying home. The kid was good, he'd probably be a better hunter than John himself in a few more years, but John didn't want Dean anywhere near this. Especially with his predilection for sleeping with someone new in every town.

An idea struck. "Think they all know who we are? If not, we might be able to stumble on 'em by acting more like the locals. We could be the guys looking for a quick hookup."

Caleb laughed, turning to John with a shocked expression, "You serious, Johnny? Using ourselves as bait for an unknown number of succubi when they probably know us and we don't know them?"

"Even if they recognize us, they'd want to take advantage," John pointed out, ignoring how embarrassing it would be if the boys found out he was killed by a succubus, "It's the best way to draw them out."

Disbelief colored Caleb's response, "Yeah, sure. We're probably going to die, but okay. Where do you want to go tonight?"

"Well, I hear Chimy's makes one hell of a margarita," John smirked as Caleb rolled his eyes. John was pretty sure he saw him muttering that this whole thing was insane, but didn't call him on it. Caleb was right. There was no way this was a good idea.

SPNDEANSPNSAMSPNDEANSPNSAM

**Owl's Head, Maine, December 19, 1998**

A dull throbbing started between Sam's eyes. He'd been researching for hours, but he hadn't found anything better than Dean's Vilia theory. Sure, the hunting pattern didn't match the lore exactly, but that really wasn't unusual. Monsters had commonalities, but they weren't exactly the same. A territorial Vilia was plausible, especially if it had recently moved to the area and was trying to establish its territory.

Unable to stand spending any more time researching something he thought they'd already figured out, Sam logged off the computer and wandered over to Dean. His brother was sprawled on the couch in the back of the library. His eyes were closed and his face relaxed, making him look his age for once. Usually, Dean looked at least ten years older than he was, a product of living like a soldier. It was one of the reasons Sam hated hunting and hated John for making them hunt. Dean deserved a chance to be normal, to not spend his days protecting his perfectly capable brother and his nights out searching for living nightmares.

Sam hadn't truly started hating hunting until three years ago when Dean went on an overnight hunt with John. Dean had been sixteen and cocky about his skills. Sam understood the cockiness, Dean was probably as good a hunter as John and he was barely an adult. Thrilled by the prospect of going on a "real" hunt with their dad instead of the standard, relatively safe hunts he usually got stuck with, Dean hadn't realized John brought him along as bait.

John had dragged Dean on a hunt for a Rusalka. It was the first Rusalka they'd gone up against and John hadn't gotten the lore right. When Dean played his part, attracting and distracting the Rusalka, John shot her full of silver bullets. It didn't slow her down for a second as she sucked some of Dean's life force, weakening him to the point that he couldn't fight, and dragged him into the lake. As he drowned, Dean managed to stab the Rusalka with his iron knife. She let him go and his body drifted to the surface. John had to give Dean CPR and, since the whole thing happened in Minnesota in January, Dean developed pneumonia. They almost lost him. All John had cared about was that Dean had managed to kill the Rusalka.

Sam had been terrified when he thought Dean was going to die. He'd nearly lost it when John told him Dean had drowned and needed CPR to revive him. That Dean had died again on the way to the hospital, but they managed to bring him back. The final straw, though, came when Dean finally got out of the hospital and John left on a hunt immediately. He brought Dean with him. Dean came home with a broken leg and dislocated shoulder, while John was untouched. It wasn't okay.

After that, Sam started to act out more, making sure John wouldn't trust him to stay in the crappy motel room after school if he was left unsupervised. Sam convinced him by being normal. He joined extracurricular activities like the soccer team and Student Council so he would stay until after dark. On days when he didn't have extracurriculars, he would go to a friend's house to study, or just go to the library. Eventually, after defying John's orders and refusing to knuckle down, John left Dean with Sam while he went hunting.

Unfortunately, Dean seemed to take it personally. John had gotten hurt on the last hunt he brought Dean. Dean had stared brokenly at the ground when he got home, refusing to meet anyone's eyes, not smiling even when Sam tried to crack a few jokes. Then, John had said he thought Dean should stay home with Sam next time and, while Sam was elated, Dean's expression was heart shattering. Tears filled his eyes, although Dean didn't allow them to fall and he looked utterly devastated. It took a week before Dean gave more than monosyllabic answers and another two before he'd say more than a sentence at once. Since then, John had limited Dean's hunting involvement to relatively easy hunts that allowed him to stay home and babysit Sam.

Sam finally snapped out of his reverie when Dean shifted, letting out a soft moan of distress. Sam frowned. Dean didn't usually have nightmares, although Sam didn't understand how that was possible. Maybe he kept them hidden. Regardless, Sam wasn't going to let anything torment his brother if he could help it.

"Dean," Sam shook his brother gently, careful not to startle his brother. Waking Dean up came with its fair share of hazards. Here, he probably would throw a fist instead of a knife, but it would still be bad in a public place. "Dean, wake up man. I'm hungry."

"S'mmy?" Dean mumbled, pulling himself from sleep. Blinking, Dean sat up and looked around, briefly puzzled before recognition lit his eyes.

"Come on, Dean," Sam coaxed, tugging on his brother's arm, "Let's get lunch. I think I'm done researching your witch."

Dean raised his eyebrows and followed Sam out of the library. He looked surprised that Sam was sticking with the witch theory. He'd probably assumed Sam had figured out some other theory that fit the pattern better. Sometimes, Sam hated that John had screwed Dean up so much that he had no sense of self worth. He always assumed he was wrong, or not good enough. It wasn't right.

Before the spark of anger could ignite into full-blown rage, Sam forced his thoughts away from their father. Instead, he focused on telling his brother everything he'd found while researching, which really wasn't much more than Dean had found. Dean nodded along with Sam's findings, lips curled in a small smile.

They made it back to the motel and Dean warmed up a couple cans of Spaghettios. Sam turned on the TV, leaving it on TNT. The Terminator marathon they had running was definitely better than the other options.

"I'm going to call Dad," Dean announced abruptly, "we have the information for the next hunt and if he isn't going to be here for Christmas, we should move out to Tomahawk, get settled before next semester starts. Plus, I really want to get some recon in before Dad and I start hunting. You know, make sure we have all the info we can get."

Sam slouched into the coach and crossed his arms over his chest. And he was not sulking. Not at all. He just didn't want Dean to call John and he didn't want to move yet. Dean did have a point, though. It'd be nice to actually have a couple days to settle in before class started. Finally, he grumbled, "Let me know what he says, okay?"

"Yeah," Dean replied shortly, dialing Dad's number.

SPNDEANSPNSAMSPNDEANSPNSAM

**Lubbock, Texas, December 19, 1998**

Well, the plan worked. It didn't go as well as they might have hoped, but they did manage to kill two Succubi and identify a third. They also found an Incubus, although that was purely by accident. Apparently the Incubus was the predator at Chimy's, something about sorority girls loving Chimy's margaritas and getting drunk on fewer calories, at least in theory. The Incubus worked as a bartender and preyed on the drunken sorority girls. Apparently he called his sex chi buddies when he spotted the hunters.

Three women sauntered in a few minutes after John and Caleb arrived at Chimy's and made a beeline for their table. A quick, silent communication involving a lot of eyebrow gymnastics led the men to allow the Succubi to arrive at their table without drawing on them. They would either wait until the next day and hunt them down, or wait until the Succubi decided to take them out back and feed.

_The Night Before_

"Hello boys," One drawled, reaching out to place her hand over John's. Remembering that Succubi could influence people through touch alone, John withdrew his hand and tucked it into his pocket. Her friends positioned themselves directly behind John and Caleb, making the hair on the back of their necks stand on end. Yeah, this plan sucked. "We heard you were looking for us. Ready to go?"

John noticed one of the bartenders watching and titling his head toward the back door. Initially, John thought he was a thrall. The Succubi herded the hunters out the back door into a dark, narrow alley between buildings. As they reached the side of the dumpster furthest from the door, blocked from view from both the parking lot and people going out the back, the Succubi advanced on the hunters, forcing them up against the wall. Just as John and Caleb drew their blessed knives, the door banged open.

The bartender burst into the alley with a drunken, young blond woman wearing a "Go Greek! Go Kappa Kappa Gamma!" t-shirt, sleeves artfully torn and side seams laced together with blue ribbon, and a revealing miniskirt. If he hadn't just realized that the bartender was an Incubus, the scene would be incredibly awkward. Inwardly weeping for youth today and thinking that Mary never would have done something like that, John threw his knife at the Incubus, catching it in the left shoulder. The now traumatized sorority girl fled the alley, crying. They had to finish this quickly, John had no doubt that girl would call the cops.

During John's moment of distraction, the Succubi attacked. They surged forward, attempting to contact any bare skin they could find like the stars of a messed up version of _Casa Erotica_. Their mouths latched on to the exposed skin of the hunters' necks. Caleb slashed at the Succubi with his knife while John attempted to physically push the women away, having lost his only effective weapon when he saved the ungrateful sorority girl. Fortunately, the Incubus had yet to spring up and help in the attack.

A Succubus managed to press her mouth over John's in a sloppy kiss. John tried to shove her away, but she started to feed. Pure bliss overwhelmed John's senses. He hadn't felt this good since his last night of adult fun with Mary. John couldn't help wanting more, wanting this to never end. He suddenly understood what he had interrupted for that poor sorority girl and felt guilty. Everyone should feel this. Dying didn't seem so bad anymore…Then reality returned.

Caleb had managed to kill the Succubus attacking him and stabbed the one sucking the life out of John. She fell away from John, leaving him in a state of semi-shock. Being torn away from heaven and back into reality jarred him. Everything, from the brick wall behind him to the knife Caleb pressed into his hand felt too rough, like sandpaper scraping away at his skin.

"John!" Caleb yelled, trying to get the older hunter to focus. John's head swam and he felt like he was swimming in a pool of molasses trying to react to any outside stimuli. Slowly turning his head, John saw the third Succubus helping the Incubus return to his feet. On the ground in front of him, the Succubus that fed off him had partially healed and tried to rise. John had mixed feelings about that. He wanted her to bring that feeling back. He hadn't felt anything like it since Mary and the thought of losing it again…he couldn't take it. Caleb clearly wanted him to kill her, though. A dull alarm rang in the back of his head and an annoyingly logical voice pointed out that she would kill him if he didn't strike first and that the feelings from the kiss weren't real.

Shaking his head in a largely unsuccessful attempt to clear it, John raised his knife and drove it through the heart of the rising Succubus. She looked at him in utter betrayal, then fell. The fuzziness that had wreaked havoc on his concentration melted away with the Succubus's death. Senses sharp once again, John surveyed the area and didn't like what he saw.

The Incubus had Caleb pinned against the wall and Caleb's right arm dangled at an odd angle, broken. His knife lay on the ground below him and the Succubus had her lips locked over Caleb's. John surged forward, determined to save his friend. As he approached, the Incubus broke away from Caleb and the Succubus, countering John's move. They fought in a flurry of punches, jabs, and blocks, until the Incubus landed a hit on John's chest. The Incubus's superior strength sent John flying up and, embarrassingly, into the dumpster.

Pain coursed through John as he gathered himself. The pain originated from his right leg, which felt like it had been crushed. Looking down, he noticed his knee had been dislocated by the force of the impact with the edge of the dumpster. A gentle touch to his shin found it broken in two places. Shit. At least he still had his knife. Which he had accidentally cut himself with when he landed. Ouch. Apparently as he landed on his right side, the impact caused his arms to cross. A three-inch gash gushed blood from John's forearm.

Remembering Caleb's situation, John pushed the pain away. He hoisted himself from the bottom of the dumpster and slowly pulled himself out. Only the Succubus and Caleb remained. The Incubus must've thought the situation was under control. John steadied himself and threw his knife, catching the Succubus in the heart. Unfortunately, she'd gotten enough life force from Caleb that she didn't die. Instead, she hissed at John before walking away, muttering something about the hunters not being a threat anymore, anyway.

_Present_

Caleb had gotten John to the hospital so they could fix his leg, but it needed surgery. He wouldn't be much help for the rest of the job, or for the next few months. A hunter hobbling around on crutches, or worse, in a wheelchair, was little more than a target for whatever supernatural creature he hunted. Frustration rose in John as he remembered assigning Dean to find a new hunt for them. If the boy had already found a hunt, he wouldn't be happy about having to let it go.

Maybe Dean _was_ ready for a solo hunt. He certainly fought well enough to land John on his ass on a regular basis and could shoot better than anyone John had ever met. The kid had hit every target the first time out. He'd only been six or seven at the time, and his skills had only improved over the years. John didn't like the idea of sending Dean out without backup, but maybe he could do the recon and find somewhere John could plant himself as a sniper.

Ringing off to the left broke John from his thoughts. He spotted his cell phone and grabbed it. "What?" John answered in his usual, less than polite manner.

"_Hey, Dad,"_ Dean's voice rang through, "_How's the hunt going?"_

In apparent bewilderment, John asked, "Are you checking up on me now, son? You know better than to call during a hunt."

"_Yeah_," Dean winced. Sammy must've put him up to this. John wondered if it was worth it. "_Sorry, Dad. We hadn't heard from you—"_

"Don't give me that!" John growled in frustration. Surely there was a reason his son called. "I've been out of contact longer than this before. What's the problem?"

John could practically hear Dean's jaw clenching. There was a deliberate inhale, calming breath, then Dean's clipped tones replied, "_Not really a problem. I found a hunt out in Wisconsin. Sammy and I think it's a witch—a Vilia. Should we wait for you or should we head over so Sammy can get settled in before school starts?"_

"Go," John said after a moment's debate. He hated sending his boys into a town experiencing supernatural problems without him, but he wouldn't be able to drive anytime soon and the Succubus and Incubus needed to die before he could leave Lubbock, anyway. Then he'd have to get Caleb to drive him up to Wisconsin. "But I want the details on this hunt, Dean."

"_Tomahawk, Wisconsin—people have been disappearing from snowmobile trails, ones that go through the woods. They're all young and, um, attractive. The people who make it out don't fit the profile, but they come out mauled. They can't remember what happened. We think it's a Vilia, new to the area and establishing her territory_," Dean explained quickly. John considered it for a moment. It was unusual, but he could see how a Vilia would fit. He told Dean that he'd be in Lubbock for a while because the Succubus had friends, but he hoped to be up to Tomahawk for New Year's.

After disconnecting the phone, John waited for his doctor to show up. He needed to know when he could get out of here. If he and Caleb didn't finish this hunt soon, there's no way he would make it to Tomahawk by New Year's and John really didn't want Dean to start doing recon alone, not when he fit the profile for people going missing.

SPNDEANSPNSAMSPNDEANSPNSAM

**Owl's Head, Maine, December 20, 1998**

"Ready Sammy?" Dean yelled, quickly scanning the room for anything they may have left behind. They didn't usually stay in one place for an entire semester and Dean worried that they'd leave something difficult to explain, like a knife or a gun, somewhere. Usually they kept everything in the trunk of the Impala, in Dad's truck, or in the weapons duffle. Dean wanted to make sure they hadn't grown lazy and complacent with anything when they'd actually had time to settle in and relax a little.

Sammy dragged his duffle bag into the room. In the past it had always closed with no problem, but this time Sam had to stack a couple shirts and a pair of jeans on top. Between his growth spurt and Dean's job, he'd acquired a decent amount of relatively low-cost clothing. Although Dad would probably demand that Sam get rid of what he didn't absolutely need, due to limited space in the trunk, Dean just smiled.

"I have some space in my bag." Dean grabbed the loose clothing from Sammy and stuffed it into his half-full duffle. He could've bought some new clothes, too, when he took Sam shopping, but he figured Sam needed it more. Besides, he wasn't growing and he hadn't destroyed anything on this hunt.

Establishing that they'd found and packed everything from the room, Dean tossed the suitcases in the trunk while Sammy took the passenger's seat. Good. Dean had been a little afraid that Sammy would want to practice driving since he had his learner's permit and Dad wasn't there. While Dean wanted his baby brother to experience the joys of driving, especially a car like his sweet Impala, he didn't want the kid learning to drive in his baby. Sure, Sam could outscore anyone on anything academic, but his driving sucked. The one time Dad took him out in the truck, he hit the gas instead of the break and took out a mailbox. And the bushes around it. And the birdbath. He finally stopped when he hit the full-grown pine, which refused to die. Never mind the "once he learned how to drive" thing, Sam could drive the Impala over Dean's dead body. Nobody killed his baby while he was alive to see it.

As Dean pulled onto I-95, Sam reached out to change the music. "Hey! Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole." Sammy shot him a bitch face and turned to look out the window. Awesome. He'd probably wake up with all his clean underwear in the freezer or something.

After twenty minutes of Sam glaring out the window and Metallica blaring, he finally turned back to Dean. Earnestly, Sammy asked, "So, can I drive for a while? You know, so I can pick the music." Rolling his eyes, Dean barked out a "No!" and turned the music up. Sammy went back to staring out the window. Dean already hated this drive.

By the time they hit Albany, Sammy had passed out against the window, forehead leaving a grease smudge behind. Dean wanted lunch and figured they had waited long enough, but he didn't really want to wake Sammy up. His rumbling stomach put an end to the debate.

"Sammy." Dean pulled into the parking lot of a diner just off the highway and nudged his brother's shoulder. He chuckled as Sammy mumbled something unintelligible and curled closer to the door. Stopping the car, Dean tapped the back of Sammy's head. "Come on, dude, it's two in the afternoon. Wake up."

Sammy opened his eyes blearily and sat up. Dean laughed and opened the driver's door, glancing back at Sammy before exiting. He had to make sure his brother actually woke up and left the car instead of rolling over and going back to sleep. Thankfully, Sammy opened his door and rose stiffly from the car.

"Why can't we ever eat somewhere with food that is actually good for us?" Sammy whined as they entered the diner. Although they'd never been to this particular diner, Dean felt familiarity wash over him. He loved that every diner had the same food, same smells, usually even the same types of people and similar waitresses. Call him crazy, but he appreciated some consistency, outside his family, in his nomadic life.

While Sam wanted a normal life, he'd never grasped that he could cling to the familiar parts of their nomadic tendencies and find a sense of normal. Not willing to bring up that whole debate with his cranky brother, Dean just shrugged. "It's food and it's cheap. They usually have chicken and rabbit food, don' they?"

Sam had his bitch face on again. Twice in one day, ouch. Well, he'd get over it eventually. Deciding on a bacon cheeseburger with extra onions before he even cracked open a menu, Dean began scanning the restaurant for the waitress. He spotted her flirting with the guy in the corner booth.

Eventually, she broke away from the teenager in the corner and wandered over to their table. "What can I get for you?" She asked unenthusiastically, not looking up from her tablet.

After she left with their orders, Sammy cracked up. "Dude, she didn't even look at you."

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up Sammy," Dean grumbled, trying not to be offended. It wasn't often that he was treated like he was invisible. "She didn't look at you, either."

"Yeah, 'cause I'm fifteen." Sammy scoffed. At least he wasn't sulking anymore, even if he was pointing out the one waitress in three states that didn't notice Dean.

The glee faded from Sammy's eyes a little when the waitress returned with their drinks and most definitely noticed Dean. She straightened her shirt and flipped her hair before smiling flirtatiously at him. Her hand lingered as she set his glass on the table, giving Dean a clear view down her shirt. Dean smirked and waggled his eyebrows. Sammy let out a huff and focused on chugging his water.

"I'm not stopping every ten minutes, dude," Dean warned as the waitress refilled Sammy's glass for the second time. Sammy just made a face and continued draining his water. By his fourth glass, the food finally arrived. Dean flirted with the waitress before she was called away by another table, then turned to Sam.

Sam, while Dean had been flirting, finished almost all of his salad. Dean couldn't understand the appeal of eating salad as a meal, but whatever. Sammy was a big boy now.

"Is Dad going to be back for Christmas?" Sammy asked hesitantly. Dean hadn't told him everything Dad had said during their conversation. He half-hoped Dad would be able to finish the hunt and get up to Wisconsin by Christmas.

Sighing, he replied sadly, "No, he doesn't think he will be. He's hoping to make it up by New Year's."

Sam picked at the few remaining lettuce leaves despondently. Dean hated seeing his brother upset. "Want to catch a movie before we get back on the road? Dad will never have to know…"

Grinning, Sammy nodded. Excellent. Dean preferred his brother to be happy, unless they were mid prank war. Or there was some other perfectly acceptable, humorous reason for Sammy's grumpiness.

SPNDEANSPNSAMSPNDEANSPNSAM

**Des Plaines, Illinois, December 21, 1998**

Dean pulled the car over in a field off the highway. They had passed through Chicago a little while ago and night had fallen. Sam sat up straighter in his seat, throwing a confused glance at Dean.

"Something wrong with the car?" He asked, not sure why they would be stopping. If Dean wanted to stop for the night, he'd get it. Tomahawk was still about four hours away and Dean had been driving all day. His brother didn't usually stop when they were so close, though.

Dean just grinned, parked the car and got out. Bewildered, Sam followed him around to the trunk. Dean pulled out a six pack, the one John had left in the fridge, and wandered back to the front of the car. "Remember when we used to do this? Just watch the stars? I thought we could do that again."

Warmth filled Sam as he grinned and grabbed a beer. He had always loved hanging out with his brother, especially when they were younger. The first year Dean had his driver's license he would drive Sam out to the middle of nowhere whenever Sam was upset. They would talk about it, or sit in silence, whatever Sam needed until he had cooled down.

"Well, we probably can't stay out here long," Dean admitted, "but I thought we could use a break."

Sam nodded his agreement. A frigid wind picked up, causing Sam to shiver. He had a coat and Dean wore his leather jacket, but Dean was right. They couldn't stay out here for long. Sam longed for summer, or at least for a southern state. John probably wasn't freezing his ass off down in Lubbock.

They stayed out there for forty-five minutes and drank two beers each. After Dean's initial explanation, they didn't talk. They just stared at the stars. It was peaceful and perfect, making Sam wish they could just hang out more often without having to think about hunting or their dad or even school. Someday, Sam decided, they would be able to give up hunting. He would bring Dean with him when he left and they could enjoy life instead of stealing moments of peace.

SPNDEANSPNSAMSPNDEANSPNSAM

**Tomahawk, Wisconsin, December 22, 1998**

They had rolled into town a little after midnight and got a motel room. After a solid eight hours of sleep, Dean finally dragged himself out of bed and began planning what he needed to get done that day. He wanted to get Sam registered at Tomahawk High, but it was winter break. He would have to call the school to see if anyone was in the office. Some schools had staff in the office during breaks. He also needed to check in with Dad, get some groceries, and start interviewing the Vilia's victims. They may remember something they believed too crazy to admit. If he was lucky, he might even find a paying job.

Deciding to buy groceries first because they had nothing to make breakfast, Dean left a note for Sammy. He grabbed his wallet and checked how much he had left. A little over fifty in cash and his credit card, which still had about fifty bucks before it hit its limit would be enough.

The grocery store was about five minutes away and Dean was surprised by the size of it. Tomahawk seemed like a fairly small town, so he expected a similarly small store. Instead it sprawled as much as any Walmart, offering a good selection of food and alcohol. _Gotta love Wisconsin_, Dean thought with a grin. They had alcohol everywhere. Dean had a fake ID, so they could definitely stock up on beer. Maybe he'd go with some Spotted Cow, since he'd only ever seen it in Wisconsin.

After picking up groceries, Dean went back to the motel to check on Sammy. The donuts were definitely a good decision. They lasted about five minutes between the two teenagers.

"Was anyone at school?" Sammy asked as he chowed down on the last donut and polished off his cup of coffee.

Dean shook his head, "Sorry, Sammy. The recording said that the office was closed until January 3rd. You're probably going to have to miss the first day back."

Sam scowled into his coffee mug. In an attempt to stave off a day of broody, sulking silence, or worse, complaining about hunting and their dad, Dean asked, "Wanna help me decorate for Christmas? We can get a tree, presents, the whole nine yards."

While it wasn't the full smile Dean was hoping for, Sam's reluctant grin would have to be good enough. Getting the kid distracted by Christmas always worked this time of year. Putting off his responsibilities for a day would be worth it to make Sammy happy.

"C'mon, let's get a tree," Dean grabbed his keys and leather coat and headed toward the door. Sammy followed, shrugging on his own winter coat. This was just the kind of normal thing Sammy liked.

SPNDEANSPNSAMSPNDEANSPNSAM

**Lubbock, Texas, December 22, 1998**

The knife cut deep into the Succubus's heart and the light faded from her eyes. To the left, the Incubus sprawled on the floor in a pool of blood, already dead. John surveyed the scene from his seat as Caleb withdrew the knife. "Nice work, Caleb. Didn't know you were ambidextrous." John called.

Caleb chucked, "I'm not. Stabbing just ain't that hard."

Smartass must be a prerequisite for becoming a hunter. John had yet to meet another hunter who didn't have a big mouth. _Dean's still the biggest smartass I've met_, John thought ruefully, _I wonder if that means he'll be a better hunter than everyone else. _Yeah, that'd be something. Hunting ability related directly to level of smartass. Realizing how far off track his thought process had gotten, John resolved to use less painkillers.

"I'm just glad you didn't need me to jump in there and save your ass," John snarked back, "Not sure it would've been worth the pain."

Caleb barked out a laugh, "Sure, John, whatever you wanna tell yourself. We both know your only move would've been the Human Bowling Ball, and you still probably would've taken me out instead of them."

John scoffed. They bantered while Caleb stacked the bodies and torched them, eventually reaching each other's prowess (or lack thereof), when it came to women. "At least I've gotten laid here. What've you been up to, old man? Forget your Viagra?" Caleb taunted, while John responded with, "I have standards and getting with some college girl who's my son's age is just wrong. Besides, I had a happy marriage by the time I was your age, what's your excuse?"

They were sharing companionable silence as they packed. John finally had to break it, "Are you sure you don't mind driving me up there? It's going to be a pain in the ass driving my car up and having to fly back down here to pick yours up."

"You trying to talk me outta this, John?" Caleb quirked an eyebrow and leveled a disbelieving stare at John. Shrugging, John dropped his duffle in the truck bed. Trying to maneuver with crutches and a heavy duffle made John feel ridiculous. He couldn't wait until he could get rid of the stupid crutches. Between his blown knee and multiple fractures, it could be awhile.

"Wanna hurry it up there, crutches?" Caleb bellowed from inside the truck. John grumbled as he maneuvered around to the passenger's side door. He tossed the crutches in the back of the cab and hauled himself into the seat. Once he settled in and closed the door, Caleb took off.

John pulled his phone out of his pocket, resolving to let his boys know he and Caleb had finished the hunt and were on their way up.

"_Hello?"_ Sam's voice rang through the phone. While he was happy to hear Sam's voice, he really preferred talking to Dean. Communicating with his eldest was infinitely easier than communicating with Sam. "Hey Sammy. Is your brother there?"

John could practically feel Sam's glare through the phone. _"Yes. And I'm fine, by the way. Where are you? Are you coming back for Christmas? Is the hunt finished? Are you—"_

"Just put your brother on the phone, please," John cut off Sammy's endless stream of questions. He loved Sam, he really did, and he couldn't be more proud of the kid, but he hated being questioned.

Sam huffed and John could hear a scuffle from the other end. Finally, Dean's voice asked, "_Dad? What's going on?"_

"Dean. We're heading up to you. We should be there in a couple days. How are things on your end? Did you get Sam registered?" John asked.

"_No one's at the school. We'll have to register Sammy on the 3__rd__. I haven't had a chance to interview any of the witnesses yet, but I'm going to do it tomorrow."_ Dean replied. John could hear that Dean held back questions and was proud of his son's restraint. Dean, at least, knew that he hated being interrogated.

"Alright. See you in a few days." John hung up. A half smile adorned his face as he thought about seeing his boys in just a few days. As important as hunting was, he hated having to leave his boys behind. This time, he'd been gone for almost three weeks. Hopefully they would be able to stick together for a while this time.

SPNDEANSPNSAMSPNDEANSPNSAM

**Tomahawk, Wisconsin, December 23, 1998**

Dean had spent the morning talking to witnesses. They all reported the same large, shadowy figure approaching before they were knocked unconscious. Then, they woke up at the edge of the forest with cuts, bruises, and broken bones they had no memory of receiving.

Misgivings stirred within Dean as he considered the large, shadowy figure. That didn't track with a Vilia. From the lore, a Vilia appeared as a beautiful woman who lured men to her lair. They had accepted that the Vilia may have shifted to include a wider range of people, but changing its form was too much of a stretch.

Hopefully Dean would be able to find a clue in the forest. One of the witnesses mentioned that her wedding ring disappeared. She couldn't be sure if it simply fell off or if her attacker had taken it, but she asked Dean to watch out for it. With the location of where she had been attacked and where she had been left, Dean set out to trace her steps.

Sammy sat at home with strict instructions to call Dad if Dean wasn't back by dinner. After giving Sam his instructions, Dean loaded a duffle with a variety of weapons. He brought silver and iron bullets, salt, an iron pole, and a variety of knives ranging from his ten inch Bowie to a silver ritual knife. He even threw in a taser, just in case. As all of the attacks and disappearances had happened at dusk or later, Dean hoped he would be safe.

Shouldering his duffle while gripping his Bowie, Dean left his Impala parked by the entrance to the snowmobile trail. He'd better not come back to find someone hit his car.

Trying to push his misgivings aside, Dean entered the snow-covered trail. If not for the dark, shadowy supernatural creature abducting people, this place would be beautiful. Tall pine trees surrounded the trail and the blanket of snow gave the trail an otherworldly feel. Wind blew gently, strong gusts blocked by the dense forest, and only the sounds of forest creatures prancing about disturbed the silence.

Dean scanned the ground, trying to figure out how he'd spot a ring buried in five inches of snow three days after it was lost. Jenny, the seventy-three year old widow who lost the ring had been so distressed about losing it that Dean felt obligated to find it. Dean chuckled. It cracked him up that the elderly woman had been snowmobiling. He'd always pictured that as something rich high school and college kids screwed around with. Eh, whatever. Jenny was a pretty awesome lady. He bet she made great pie.

Rubbing his gloved hands together, Dean shivered. He loved his leather jacket, but it definitely was not a winter coat. He decided to stick to the path for another half hour, then turn around. Otherwise, he'd lose track of time and the creature wouldn't even need to attack him—he'd freeze to death.

"Dammit," Dean muttered as no clues appeared. There should be something to trace the son of a bitch. He'd entered at the same place as Jenny and he'd already crossed the spots the rest of the witnesses mentioned. _It hasn't even snowed recently!_ Dean thought in frustration. There should be tracks. All Dean could find were snowmobile treads and occasional boot prints.

Something glinted off to the right. Dean's eyebrows furrowed as he glanced in that direction seeking anything but snow. Honing in on the shiny object, he left the trail to find it. It wasn't gold, and it certainly wasn't Jenny's ring. Instead, it was the plastic coating of a cell phone. Unfortunately, the snow had gotten it wet and, presumably, it had been sitting out there for a while so it didn't turn on. No chance of figuring out whom it belonged to, then.

Shoving the phone into his pocket, Dean spun when he heard a noise. Something approached from further down the trail, snapping branches and growling. Dean clenched his knife and prepared himself in case it was the creature. Maybe he'd finally have his answers.

It was a snowmobile. Dean's emotions twisted between embarrassment, disappointment, and relief. He couldn't believe he'd mistaken a snowmobile, and engine, for a monster. Dean knew engines. He wiped a hand across his eyes in disbelief.

Exhaling sharply in frustration, Dean turned to follow the trail back to his car. Maybe he'd have better luck tomorrow. Hell, maybe he'd bring Sammy tomorrow. Another pair of eyes couldn't hurt and whatever evil son of a bitch was out here clearly wasn't attacking during the day.

He'd walked a few feet down the trail when branches snapped behind Dean and he heard a faint growl. Dean's jaw clenched and he swallowed audibly. It definitely wasn't a snowmobile this time.

Slowly, Dean turned around. His eyes widened and his jaw fell open. "Oh, shit."

SPNDEANSPNSAMSPNDEANSPNSAM

Dean still wasn't back. Sam had expected him two hours ago and the jerk had yet to show up. At almost eight o'clock, he couldn't put off calling their dad any longer. For once, he would be glad if he called their dad with bad news for no reason. He really hoped that as soon as he called, or even once he'd hung up, Dean would burst through the door.

Slowly, Sam picked up the phone. He dialed John's number, eyes locked on the front door, pleading for his brother to walk in. As the phone rang, Sam's trepidation grew. Finally, to Sam's dismayed relief, it went to voicemail.

"Dad," Sam started, voice wavering, "Dean's missing."

**TBC**

**AN: **Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please review!

Next time: What happened to Dean? Will Sam and John find him? Will Sam and John kill each other without Dean to mediate?


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: **Sorry it took so long for this (relatively short) update! Real life got in the way. Hope you enjoy!

**Tomahawk, Wisconsin, December 23, 1998**

A towering, ten-foot, vaguely humanoid frame loomed before Dean, distinguishing features shrouded in shadow. The two twisting horns on its head, though, were clearly distinguishable. Something flickered behind the creature and, yeah, it was definitely a tail.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean muttered venomously as he darted off the trail and into the forest. That thing was definitely not a Vilia. Honestly, he wasn't sure what it was. Whatever it was, it looked like the stereotypical version of the devil, but much less red. Rapid, heavy footsteps also indicated that the damn thing was following him. Dean slid his Bowie into his left hand and reached for the gun in the back of his waistband with his right. The clip in the gun was filled with alternating silver and consecrated iron bullets. He flicked off the safety and half turned, still running, to line up his shot. Dean pulled the trigger five times, getting in three shots to the chest and two to the son of a bitch's forehead. It didn't even slow down.

If anything, the stupid thing was speeding up. Dean twisted forward again, reluctant to take his eyes off the monster but even less willing to be caught because he ran into a tree or something equally stupid. He had to get out of the forest. Dean frantically searched the area before him, but could see only an endless area of towering pines. Despite the nearly full moon, visibility was horrible with the trees blocking out the sky.

Dean bit back a groan of frustration as he realized he had no idea where in the forest he was. He had left the snow mobile trail hoping that he would be able to lose the monster in the woods. No dice. His lungs burned as he struggled to pull in enough oxygen to continue sprinting through unfamiliar territory for the past thirty minutes. His muscles where tiring quickly, unused to be pushed so hard for so long. The monster just kept coming, undeterred by fatigue. Dean could practically feel its breath on the back of his neck.

A clawed hand closed over his right shoulder, digging in painfully and jerking Dean back abruptly. The unexpected change in momentum left Dean on his ass in front of the stooped creature, its claws still holding him tightly. The duffle bounced off the ground and its strap fell to Dean's left forearm, preventing him from stabbing the creature's arm immediately. It folded itself down to the ground so it could be eye level with Dean. The creature's other clawed hand reached over to grasp Dean's chin. The tips of its claws dug into Dean's face, drawing small beads of blood to the surface. Dean jerked his head back and, after untangling himself from his duffle, stabbed his Bowie through the creature's wrist, hoping it would release his shoulder.

Superficial scratches marred Dean's face after he jerked it out of the creature's light grasp, but the hold on his shoulder simply tightened. Dean's eyes watered and he fought the urge to cry out in pain. His right shoulder was burning where the creature's claws held him in place and the burning sensation was spreading. His entire right arm was beginning to throb, and the right side of his torso burned.

_Poison!_ Dean thought as the sensation continued to spread. He couldn't die here; he couldn't leave Sammy on his own in a new place! Dean struggled weakly, trying to get away from the creature that was now watching him impassively. The burning sensation was followed by numbness and despite his panic, Dean felt his breathing and heart rate slowing. He felt himself dying.

As the last vestiges of consciousness fled him, Dean felt the creature grasp his chin once more and tilt his head as though it was examining his face. Moist, warm, putrid breath hit Dean's face as the creature murmured, "Mine."

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Fury coursed through Sam, its intensity building every minute. John, the bastard, hadn't called back. Sam had called him three hours ago to tell him that his eldest was missing and he couldn't even be bothered to respond. It didn't help that Sam had called back five more times before the phone started going straight to voicemail. The bastard wasn't just busy, he was deliberately ignoring the calls.

Sam sighed heavily as he slid a hand through his hair, resisting the urge to scream. This was ridiculous and unacceptable. Dean was _missing_, he could be dead, and Sam was just sitting at home doing nothing. John couldn't be bothered. Damn it, Dean could be dead, or lying hurt in the forest somewhere freezing to death. _Fine, if he won't answer, I'll call Pastor Jim!_ Sam resolved, grabbing the phone from its cradle with more force than necessary. He stabbed the numbers for the pastor as though they were the force that had taken Dean from him and listened to the phone ring.

"_Hello,"_ Pastor Jim's voice sounded at the other end, causing Sam to release a strangled sob of relief.

"Dean is missing!" Sam exclaimed, cutting off Pastor Jim's usual phone-answering spiel. There was a brief pause before the pastor replied, "_Sam Winchester, is that you? Are you alright?"_

Relief continued to course through Sam as he explained the situation to Pastor Jim, although the despair at losing his brother remained. At least someone else knew what was happening and it was someone that could do something to help. "He was supposed to be back five hours ago. Dean doesn't just disappear like this, something happened to him, and dad won't even answer his phone!" Sam finished, near tears.

"_Alright Sam, I need you to calm down. Do not go into that forest. Your brother wouldn't want you to get hurt trying to find him. Dean's a good hunter so whatever is out there isn't something any one hunter can take alone, okay," _Pastor Jim instructed. From the rustling on the other end of the line, it sounded like he was packing. _"I'll be there in a few hours, just hold on. Keep trying to reach your father. I'm going to call Bobby Singer, he'll want to help. Stay put, do not go into the forest. Promise me, Sam."_

"Yeah, I'll stay here," Sam replied reluctantly. If he went missing as well, Dean's chances of being found would decrease. Still, it was hard to stay in the motel room knowing that Dean was out there alone. "Thanks," Sam hung up the phone.

The Christmas tree twinkled merrily from its spot in the corner of the room, filling the room with a multi-colored glow and fresh pine scent. Just yesterday Dean had been here, finagling the tree into its stand and wrapping the cheap string of Christmas lights around it, plugging it in and grinning broadly as the tree glowed. Newspaper-wrapped presented sat beneath the boughs and Dean had made hot chocolate for them to enjoy. The radio-alarm clock on the nightstand blasted Christmas tunes, albeit with poor quality sound, and for once hunting wasn't mentioned. It had felt perfect, like a real Christmas, and they had both been content. Today, it felt like the tree was mocking him. One perfect, normal day, and then it was taken from him in the worst possible way. It wasn't fair.

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**Sioux Falls, South Dakota, December 23, 1998**

A shrill ringing reverberated around the small property settled in the middle of a junkyard in Sioux Falls at the rude time of 11:24 pm. With an annoyed, "What kind of idgit calls this late at night," the property's resident pulled himself from his bed and grabbed the phone.

"What?" He answered gruffly, rubbing his eyes and trying to wake up.

"_Sorry to call so late,"_ Jim Murphy's voice answered, "_I just got off the phone with Sam Winchester. Dean is missing and John hasn't made it into town yet."_

That certainly woke Bobby up. He may not see them often, but he considered the Winchester boys to be a part of his family. "How long has Dean been missing? Was Sam sure he wasn't just out with a girl?"

"_I'm afraid not. Dean was looking into a hunt out in Tomahawk and decided to check the woods before John arrived. Sam said he was supposed to be back in time for dinner, but he hasn't returned. John isn't answering his phone."_ Murphy explained, his last sentence decidedly more clipped. Bobby could relate, he wasn't particularly pleased with the boys' father either.

"Where the hell was John, anyway?" Bobby demanded.

"_He just finished a hunt with Caleb in Texas. He should be on his way up now," _Murphy replied. Damn, why did the bastard just ditch his boys to run off on another hunt?

Shaking off his anger toward the eldest Winchester so he could focus on the current crisis, Bobby asked, "Did Sam have any idea what Dean was going after?"

"_Dean thought it was a Vilia. He never told Sam otherwise, but Sam did notice that Dean brought a wide array of weapons with him in the duffle._" Murphy replied, voice tinged with concern. The concern was justified. If Dean took different types of weapons when he went for recon, he wasn't sure about what he was hunting. The kid had run off, trying to be a hero, and gotten himself in over his head without backup. _Balls!_ The kid hadn't even known what he was going up against.

"Why'd he think it was a Vilia?" Bobby asked, already trying to determine which books would be the most helpful for research. Jim's description helped and Bobby had a few ideas, but it was just too vague. "I'll be there in a few hours. We're getting him back."

Bobby hung up the phone, all thoughts of sleep erased. Instead, he gathered the books he thought were the most likely to be useful and packed a couple bags, one with clothes and the other with weapons. After packing, he tossed his bags and box of books into the truck and sped toward Tomahawk, Wisconsin. Dean Winchester would be fine, or there would be hell to pay.

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**Des Moines, Iowa, December 24, 1998**

John woke with a start as the truck stopped moving. He peered out the window blearily as he tried to regain his bearings. A glance at the clock revealed that it was just after seven in the morning. Caleb looked like hell, but he'd been driving all night so it was no surprise. Originally John had planned to be back with his boys by now. With his leg all screwed up, though, they'd needed to stop overnight in Oklahoma City and Caleb had been exhausted so they hadn't left until late yesterday.

"Hungry yet?" Caleb asked, opening his door and stepping out of the truck. John grunted and opened his own door, twisting to reach his crutches from the half seat in the cab. He hated stopping, even for food. John couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Hobbling along on his crutches, John noted that they were at an IHOP. Interesting choice—generally he just took the boys to a gas station for snacks if they were on the road in the morning. His comment about it to Caleb was met with a sarcastic, "Yeah, and you're the paragon of healthy habitats. Suck it up and eat real food. I'm hungry." John simply rolled his eyes and continued his way into the chain restaurant. They continued bickering until the waitress brought out their orders.

The food made him feel better, John reluctantly admitted to himself, but he certainly would not tell Caleb that. The younger man was cocky enough already; it wouldn't be good to have him thinking he was right about everything. John reached into his pocket to grab his phone. He should call his boys to let them know where he was and that he would be in Tomahawk by the end of the day. That plan was ended by the phone's failure to turn on. He'd forgotten to charge the battery. "Damn!" John cursed softly, then asked, "Hey Caleb, got an adaptor? I need to charge my phone."

The younger man smirked before reaching into his bag in the back of the truck and pulling out an adaptor that plugged into the cigarette lighter on the dash. He pulled out the lighter and plugged in the adaptor, gesturing for John to plug in his phone charger. "Having a hard time keeping up with technology?" He mocked. John glared and plugged in his phone.

As soon as it received some power, the phone turned itself on. _48 missed calls_. Crap. Something was definitely wrong. John noted that most of them were from the boys, with a few from Jim and Bobby as well. Brows furrowed with confused apprehension, John navigated his way to the full voicemail inbox.

"_First message_," The phone's obnoxious automated voice announced. "_Dad,"_ Sam's shaky voice came through the phone, "_Dean's missing_."

John's heart dropped and he felt like he was going to loose that big breakfast he'd just consumed. It wasn't possible. Dean couldn't be missing, he wasn't even actively hunting! Damn it, he should have been there!

"_Second message_," The phone announced. _"Dad, call me back. Dean was supposed to be back over two hours ago. I don't know what to do."_ Sam's voice again, this time vaguely tearful.

"_Third message_." Phone again. "_Damn it Dad, why'd you turn off your phone! Dean needs you! He could be dead and you don't even care!" _Angry Sam this time, John thought with a wince.

"_Sorry, sir. Dean still isn't here. It's been four hours since he was supposed to be back. We need to find him."_ Sam's voice was flat in the fourth message and a bit defeated.

"_I don't know what's going on or why you haven't called back, but I'm going to call Pastor Jim. I'm going to find Dean."_ Sam declared, a hint of anger returning. Dealing with Sam was not going to be fun and it'd be worse than usual without Dean there to mediate.

"_Hello John,"_ Jim Murphy voiced the sixth message, "_Your son, Sam, called. Your son, Dean, is missing. I am heading to Sam to help with the search. I have also called Bobby Singer. He will meet me there. We expect to see you soon." _Ouch, even Jim's voice had been laced with venom. He would never let his phone die again. Nothing good could ever come of it.

"_Please call, Dad. I don't know what to do. Dean hasn't come back and I have to find him. We have to find him!_" Sam's broken voice filled John's ear for the seventh message. John was blinking back tears himself at this point. His boys needed him and he wasn't there.

"Caleb," John said roughly, navigating away from his voicemail before he finished listening to all of the messages. Each one tore at his heart a little more until it felt like he had a gaping wound in his chest, "Drive faster. Dean is missing."

Caleb's eyes widened in dismay. The younger hunter liked Dean and considered him a friend. He had originally wanted the kid to come with him on this hunt instead of John. He nodded curtly in response and drove faster, hitting 100 mph and praying that they would get there in time to save Dean…and to not get pulled over because that would not be good.

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**Tomahawk, Wisconsin, December 24, 1998**

Pastor Jim arrived first, pulling in to the motel parking lot around five in the morning. Sam hadn't slept. He stayed up, eyes darting between the door and the phone, praying that Dean would walk through those doors and praying even more fervently that he wouldn't get a call from the police asking him to ID a body. The pastor's appearance was a profound relief for the exhausted boy.

Pastor Jim pulled Sam into a hug the moment the door was open and the standard identity tests were completed. "I'm so sorry, Sam. We'll find him."

Sam just nodded and pulled away, asking if Pastor Jim wanted anything to drink. He still couldn't believe Dean was actually missing. Dean was his invincible big brother. This wasn't supposed to happen! Sam was supposed to find a way out of this life and bring Dean with him. _No,_ Sam turned himself from the thought_, Dean is NOT dead. I'll find him and we'll get out of this life. This is not happening again._

Pastor Jim asked Sam more questions about the hunt and what information Dean had gathered. Sam really didn't know very much. He felt distinctly useless because nothing he knew was actually helpful.

Around seven, Bobby pulled into the parking lot and yelled for Sam to help him carry up his stuff. He had brought a wide variety of books. Sam smiled slightly for the first time since Dean went missing. Maybe, with Bobby's library and his dad's friends' help, they would be able to find Dean today. It would be better for everyone that way, especially Dean. On top of whatever mess he'd gotten himself into, it was five below tonight and Dean only had his leather jacket. Dean would die of hypothermia if they took too much longer to find him.

After lugging Bobby's boxes of books up to the second-floor motel room, the phone rang. Sam lunged at it like a man possessed. "Hello!" He answered breathlessly.

"_Sammy,_" John's voice reverberated through the phone, sending relief and anger coursing through Sam in equal parts. "_I just got your messages. Did Dean ever make it back?"_

"No," Sam replied shortly.

"_Damn_," John cursed, pain nearly palpable even over the phone. Sam felt some of his anger draining away. At least John hadn't been ignoring him on purpose. "_Did Jim make it out there?"_

"Yeah, Bobby too," Sam replied, glancing at the two older men, both of whom were watching Sam avidly, "Where are you?"

"_Just outside of Des Moines. I should be there in about six hours with the way Caleb's driving."_ John replied, "_Listen to Jim and Bobby. Hopefully Dean'll be back by the time I get there."_

Sam agreed, then realized that John had said Caleb was driving. That was certainly a bad sign. "Why is Caleb driving?"

"_Don't worry about it, Sammy. Just listen to Jim and Bobby and find your brother." _John replied, hanging up the phone before Sam could ask any more questions. Sam hated it when he did that.

"John ain't driving himself?" Bobby asked, looking surprised.

"Yeah, he said Caleb was driving, but he wouldn't tell me why." Sam replied angrily.

"He's probably injured," Pastor Jim noted with a sigh, "we should get started. There is a good chance he won't be much help when he does arrive. It will be nice to have Caleb's assistance, though."

Bobby grunted his agreement and cracked open a book. Sam remained standing by the phone, torn between worry for John's probable injury and anger for John's inability to answer even the simplest of questions.

"What are you waiting for? An engraved invitation?" Bobby growled, tossing a large tome to Sam. The men settled around the table while Sam took his book over to the couch. The Christmas tree was still there, unchanged, twinkling merrily and mocking Dean's absence.

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Less than an hour later, Sam passed out on the couch. The boy had been fighting his exhaustion all night and it was clear that he needed sleep. Pastor Jim gently lifted the book from Sam's loose grasp and returned it to the table. Honestly, Pastor Jim wasn't feeling much better and could feel his focus slipping. His days of pulling all-nighters had long since passed, after all. Bobby looked equally tired. They all desperately needed sleep.

_Yes,_ a small voice at the back of Jim's head spoke, _but what about Dean? Has he been allowed to sleep? Has he entered the eternal sleep? You'll never forgive yourself if that boy comes to more harm because you allowed yourself to rest before finding him._

Resolved to find the boy, Jim set about making a pot of coffee. Bobby grunted his approval from the table where he was still hunched over a large tome, apparently written in Greek. Poor man must have a terrible headache.

"What are we gonna do if Dean's dead?" Bobby asked quietly, careful not to wake Sam, "He's been out there for over twelve hours now and it's damned cold. Even if he was alive last night, he's gotta have hypothermia by now."

Jim sighed. He had been trying to avoid thinking about Dean not being alive when he was rescued. "From what we know, people have been disappearing or turning up mauled. Dean fits the description of those taken. I doubt whoever or whatever has been taking people would do so simply to let them die of the cold."

"I hope so. Losing Dean would kill Sam, and John'd be more reckless than ever. It'd be a damn shame to lose the kid. He'll be a good man, better man than most, given half a chance." Bobby replied. Jim nodded his agreement.

Another wave of exhaustion washed over Jim as he poured a mug of coffee for himself and another for Bobby. Dean had to be alive. He refused to accept any other possibility. "We should check the woods before John arrives. Dean may be out there."

"Don't seem likely, but there ain't enough to go on without talking to the victims to figure out what this is. Leading theory is still a Vilia from my research and that probably ain't it," Bobby replied, "We'd better bring Sam, though. He'll just follow us otherwise."

Jim agreed, finishing his coffee and reluctantly going to the couch to wake Sam. At least the boy had gotten an hour of sleep. Once Dean was home, they could all sleep as much as they wanted.

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"No' sleepin'," Sam muttered when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He sat up, momentarily confused by the lack of book in his hand. Looking around the room in confusion, he asked, "How long was I out? Did you find anything?"

"Only about an hour," Pastor Jim reassured him, "but we haven't found anything about what Dean may have encountered. We're going to have to get more information to narrow the search."

Sam nodded sleepily. He hadn't expected anything, but Bobby was the master of research and Pastor Jim was an exceptional hunter. He'd hoped they would find something even with the limited information he and Dean had had to work with. Sam stood, stretching from the cramped couch, and grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door. "We're going to look for him now that its light out, right?"

"Yeah," Bobby replied, grabbing his jacket and keys. Pastor Jim followed them out, grabbing the room key and stuffing it in his pocket. That was good, Sam had forgotten to grab it. Getting locked out of the room make this day worse. Jeez, he was so scattered from exhaustion and worry that he couldn't do anything right.

The frigid Wisconsin air certainly helped to wake him up, though. Worry flooded Sam as he was reminded that Dean had been out in this weather since he left to search the woods yesterday afternoon and he only had his leather jacket. Why hadn't the jerk ever gotten a winter coat? They had been in Maine and it wasn't exactly a warm area. Maybe Dean didn't have enough money after buying the new clothes for Sam. And now he had a nice dose of guilt accompanying all that worry. Great.

Sam allowed Bobby and Pastor Jim to pass him, unsure of which car they would be taking. Seeing Bobby pull his keys out, Sam bounded over to the old truck and crammed his long legs into the too-small backseat. Bobby slid into the driver's seat while Pastor Jim wandered around to the passenger's side. They weren't slow, but Sam wished they could go faster. He hated not knowing what was happening to his brother. He knew hunting was going to kill his brother if they didn't get out and Sam sincerely hoped it wasn't too late.

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Fifteen minutes later, they found the Impala sitting on the side of the road. A light dusting of snow covered the classic car. Sam jumped out of the truck as soon as it stopped and wiped off the passenger's side window hoping to see Dean lying inside the car, preferably with a few blankets to keep him warm.

Sam's heart dropped when he saw the car was empty. No Dean. He hadn't made it back to the car yesterday. Fighting off a wave of despair, Sam gestured for the hunters to follow him into the forest. Dean had only been doing recon, he wouldn't have left the snowmobile trail he parked by.

The forest grew dark as they walked deeper into its depths. Dean's footprints were still visible in the snow, allowing them to follow his path exactly until it abruptly changed direction, heading into the woods. Bobby wandered further down the trail to see what had caused Dean to change course. "Balls! Ain't a Vilia. Whatever it is, its huge."

As the hunters followed the trail, Sam noted with some dismay that the monster's footprints overlapped with Dean's. Dean's trail indicated that he was running, probably sprinting. Sam's heart clenched as he thought about how scared Dean must have been, alone and pursued by some mammoth creature.

"There are some bullet casings over here," Pastor Jim called, holding up an empty casing. Bobby nodded his acknowledgement and looked at the surrounding trees, "Doesn't look like he missed."

"Of course he didn't," Sam scoffed. Dean was frighteningly proficient with a gun and he rarely missed unless the monster was too fast or he was firing a warning shot. Unfortunately, the monster's trail continued to overlap with Dean's. "Doesn't look like it mattered."

Sam focused on breathing steadily as panicked despair threatened to overwhelm him. Pastor Jim held five casings. Five shots and it still followed his brother. If that didn't stop it, what could Dean have done to protect himself? He won't be able to handle it if they found Dean's body at the end of the trail. _I should have gone with him_, Sam thought guiltily, _He shouldn't have had to deal with this alone._

The overlapping trails continued for another three miles before it came to a sudden stop. The snow was stained red with blood, but there was no body. "It looks like Dean fell here. Probably pulled back." Bobby explained, gesturing at the way the heels dug in at the final print, and it looked like Dean had been pushed onto his knees. Another, much larger indent indicated that the monster had also knelt in the snow in front of Dean.

"Where'd they go?" Sam asked, voice wavering again. He couldn't see any evidence of any further trail, but that wasn't possible. How could they just disappear?

Bobby shook his head, looking wearier than Sam ever recalled him being before. Pastor Jim frowned, eyes showing a glimmer of sorrow. "The trail just ends. How is that possible?"

"Don't know, but maybe that'll help with the research. There ain't a body and Dean's a tough kid," Bobby replied, "He'll keep himself alive until we find there. Hell, maybe he'll be waiting for us back at the Impala."

Sam nodded slowly, feeling oddly disconnected from his body. Everything had hurt before, but now it was just numb. Dean wasn't here. He was hurt and he had vanished. How the hell was that possible? What if they could never figure out what had taken him?

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"Where the hell are they?" John growled as he hovered on his crutches in front of the locked motel room door. Caleb rolled his eyes and pulled out a paperclip to pick the lock.

"They're probably out looking for Dean," Caleb remarked as the lock disengaged, allowing him to swing the door open. The younger hunter grinned when he saw the Christmas tree glowing brightly in the corner. At least the boys had some fun before everything went to hell.

John's crutches clacked against the floor has he entered the room. A pile of books lay on the table and two coffee mugs sat in the sink. The Christmas tree in the corner was like a dagger to his heart. He knew the boys celebrated Christmas together, but he'd never witnessed them decorating the motel room before. He usually found a hunt so he wouldn't have to see them over the holidays. It just hurt too much, being reminded that Mary should be there to celebrate the holidays with them.

"I'm going to make lunch," Caleb announced after opening the fridge. The boys had done some grocery shopping. That would've been Dean. Jeez, what was he going to do if he lost that kid? He knew he relied on Dean for too much, but he also did his best to protect his boys. He tried to give them the skills and knowledge to protect themselves while keeping them out of the worst hunts.

His thoughts must've shown on his face because Caleb had adopted a mildly pitying expression. "He'll be okay, John. It's Dean. When has he ever let you down? Hell, when has anything been able to keep him down? We'll find him or he'll find us, either way he's coming back."

Before John could respond, the door banged open. For a moment, John hoped Dean had somehow made his way back. Instead, Sam walked through the door, followed by Bobby and Pastor Jim. Sam wore an oddly blank expression, worrying John to no end. Sam didn't do emotionless. He met John's eyes and shook his head. Bad news, then.

"We followed Dean's trail," Pastor Jim explained as he took a seat beside John at the table, "Whatever is out there, it took Dean and vanished. The only thing I can figure is that it can fly."

John closed his eyes, trying to fend off his misery. Some supernatural son of a bitch had his son because he hadn't wrapped up his last hunt soon enough. Anything could be happening to him right now.

John was broke out of his thoughts as Sam cried, "What happened to you?"

Ah, his injuries had been spotted. "There were a few more succubi and incubi than we expected."

Sam nodded, eyes still wide with disbelief. John looked away, still embarrassed that he had been caught off guard. He watched Bobby as the older man read from a large book written in Greek. Bobby was muttering as he read and his frustration was apparent.

Caleb broke the morose mood that had settled over the hunters as he finished making grilled cheese sandwiches, instructing everyone to eat something. "You're no use to Dean if you don't take care of yourself!" That comment just earned the man eye rolls from everyone.

John ate his grilled cheese, but couldn't stop wondering if Dean had gotten to eat anything today. He hoped Dean was warm enough and had food, that the monster was leaving him alone, but he had no way to know for sure. For all he knew, the monster was cheerfully tearing Dean to shreds while he sat there, completely useless.

**TBC**

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, followed, favorited, and read this story! I appreciate it!

Please review! I love getting feedback


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: **Thanks to those who reviewed, followed, and favorited! Enjoy the chapter! I'm as surprised as you that it is up less than 24 hours after the last one…

**Tomahawk, Wisconsin, December 25, 1998**

Cold seeped under his skin, piercing it like daggers. His bones ached. _Pain_. It was the only thing registering. He didn't know who he was or where he was, just that everything _hurt_. And he was cold, far too cold for any living thing to survive. The pain increased on the left side, there as increased pressure there. He fought back a scream even as he wondered why he bothered.

There was a noise, something other than just wind. Words weren't registering, though. Just a voice, a soothing tone, and he drifted back into oblivion.

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**Tomahawk, Wisconsin, January 31, 1999**

"We'll have a funeral for him," John declared coldly, "but we're leaving tomorrow. Its time for you to accept that Dean is gone."

Sam glared at his father in disbelief and not a small amount of fury. He was actually giving up on Dean! His own son! Sam clenched his jaw as he bit back a retort and instead stormed into his room, _the room he should be sharing with Dean_, and slammed the door. Everything had gone to hell over the past month. Bobby, Pastor Jim, and Caleb had all left two weeks ago. They had spent as much time as they could searching for Dean on limited information, but they never even gathered enough to determine what had taken Sam's brother. After Dean's abduction, the trail had gone completely cold. The attacks stopped.

In his more hopeful moments, Sam thought that maybe Dean had managed to injure or kill his captor, but hadn't been able to find his way back to his family for whatever reason. Or maybe Dean had done what Sam always dreamed of doing and simply left to build a normal life for himself after escaping from the monster. He couldn't blame his brother for doing so, although he desperately wished Dean had taken him along.

_A funeral!_ Sam scoffed internally. _Dean isn't dead! He can't be! How can that man give up so easily! _

The very idea of burying an empty casket for Dean disgusted Sam. They had only searched for a month. They hadn't even found a body. It didn't make any sense. Dean would never give up on John this soon if John went missing. Was it really too much to ask for the man to keep searching until Dean was found? Or at least until they found what took him?

Sam heard a door slam and peeked cautiously out of his room. The room was empty, John had left. _Probably went down to the bar to drink himself into oblivion again_.

Taking advantage of his father's absence, Sam wandered into the kitchen area and picked up the phone. He dialed Pastor Jim's number in the hopes that the pastor could talk some sense into John before they abandoned Dean to the mercy of whatever had taken him.

_"Hello,"_ Pastor Jim greeted warmly, "_This is Jim Murphy—"_

"Hi Pastor Jim," Sam cut in, "It's Sam. I have a problem."

"_What's wrong?"_

"John is having a funeral for Dean and we're leaving tomorrow. We haven't even found him yet!" Sam explained.

"_I'm sorry, Sam, I know that that must be difficult,"_ Pastor Jim started gently, "_but—"_

"But what? It's Dean! We can't just give up on him!" Sam yelled in disbelief. He couldn't believe that Pastor Jim was siding with John on this. What kind of hunters were they? They would risk their lives, Dean's life, to save a few innocent people and wouldn't blink if it took over the expected time to stop the monster, but they couldn't be bothered to save Dean. It was ridiculous—unacceptable.

"_Have any of the others who went missing been found?"_ Pastor Jim asked in that same infuriatingly gentle tone. It took Sam a moment to realize why Pastor Jim had changed the subject, but his anger drained as soon as he did. He answered brokenly, "No, they haven't. We haven't been able to find anything new since we interviewed the witnesses. But we still can't just abandon him! What if he's still alive? What if they're all still alive, waiting for us, and we're just leaving them to die?"

Pastor Jim sighed heavily before responding, "_Whatever it was that took Dean, its stopped. No one else has gone missing, but no one has returned. We searched every inch of that forest. Without more information, there is no way to identify what it was or when it will resurface."_

"I know," Sam replied hollowly, "but it isn't right, leaving like this. Until I see a body I can't believe he's dead. We're abandoning him to some horrible fate and if he does get himself out, he'll come back to an empty room."

"_I'll talk to Bobby, we can make sure that hunters in the area know to check for Dean and the others. That way, if Dean or someone else does make it back, we'll know and be able to help,"_ Pastor Jim appeased.

Sam grunted out a brief, "Thanks," and hung up, not remotely satisfied by the solution. He didn't want to move on with his life. He wanted to find his brother. His eyes lingered on the Christmas tree, still in its corner a month after Christmas, and prayed for his brother's safe return.

When Dean did return, he would be in for one hell of a shock. Over the last month, Sam had refused to return to school. Instead, he stayed home, researching with John, or went out to search the forest again. For the first time in his life, Sam was more focused on hunting than anything else. He was determined to find his brother and kill whatever it was that had taken him. For once, he actually understood John's motivation for driving them across the country, searching for his mother's killer.

_Of course_, Sam thought bitterly_, he drives all over the country for years searching for the killer of his wife, but when his son goes missing, he can only spare a month to search. Then he gives up, assumes Dean is dead. Unbelievable._

Clenching his jaw tightly as his fury rose, Sam returned to his room and stuffed his belongings into his duffle bag. He pulled Dean's duffle out of its corner where it had lain, untouched, since Dean disappeared. Gingerly pulling Dean's favorite AC/DC shirt out of the duffle, Sam allowed himself to cry. The shirt still smelled like Dean. He still couldn't believe they were leaving. After a few minutes of a chick flick moment that Dean would undoubtedly mock him for, Sam stuffed the shirt back into the duffle, along with the extra clothes Sam had packed in when they left Maine.

Determined to give Dean some idea of where they were and why they left, Sam pulled a knife out of the weapons duffle and carved the coordinates for Albuquerque into the wall by the door. He also carefully wrote a note explaining the situation and stuffed it in the crack between the wall and the floorboard under the coordinates. Hopefully, _when_ Dean came back he would get Sam's message.

SPNDEANSPNSAMSPNDEANSPNSAM

Three shots of whiskey on top of some fairly strong pain medication was not a good plan. John saw everything spin as he finished his third shot and switched to beer. Unfortunately, while the painkillers and alcohol helped with the pain from his healing leg, they did nothing to help what felt like a gaping hole in his chest. Everything had gone so wrong. He shouldn't have told Dean to find a hunt and he really shouldn't have allowed the boys to get to a dangerous area without him. Not that he would have been a big help with his leg all screwed to hell, but at least he would've been there. Maybe Dean would've shared his doubts about the monster's identity and he could've stopped the kid from running off without knowing what was out there.

Talking to the monster's victims had been difficult. They all remembered Dean and had liked him. They wanted to know where he was. One lady, a widow, had cried when he told her that Dean had gone missing. She blamed herself; apparently, she had asked him to find her wedding ring while he was out there because it had gone missing. She also wasn't particularly pleased when she found out that Dean was only nineteen and John was supposed to be helping him on the case.

SPNDEANSPNSAMSPNDEANSPNSAM

**Tomahawk, Wisconsin, December 26, 1998**

"_Hello, I'm looking for Jenny Blemberg," John announced, trying to look official while balancing on his crutches and hoping he didn't slip on the ice. A short, elderly woman wearing jeans and a Christmas sweater had answered the door. The woman pushed her glasses up and responded, "You've found her. Would you like to come in?"_

_John thanked her and entered the home, finding himself surrounded by photos of the woman's family members and a few deer heads mounted on the walls. After leading John into the family room and gesturing for him to take a seat on the couch, Jenny sat in the armchair to the right of the couch and asked, "What can I do for you, sir?"_

"_My name is John Papke, I'm an FBI agent looking for the people who have gone missing in the woods," John introduced himself, pulling out a fake FBI badge. Jenny looked at it nodded._

"_What happened to your younger counterpart? Dean Scott?" Jenny asked, concerned, "I just talked to him a few days ago."_

_John looked at the ground sorrowfully, taking a deep breath before responding, "I'm afraid he's gone missing as well. I was a few days behind him and I was injured on our last case, so he went out to search the woods alone. He didn't make it back."_

_Jenny's hand rose to cover her mouth as she made a small noise of distress. Tears fell gently down her cheeks as she fought to restrain sobs. Meeting John's eyes, she asked, "Do you have any leads? That boy was too young to be out there, especially alone. I can't believe I asked him to keep an eye out for my wedding ring. It's the only thing I have left of my late husband, but I wouldn't want anyone getting hurt over it."_

"_Do you have any information that could help me find him? So far I haven't found anything useful and Dean didn't leave his interview notes…" John asked, carefully keeping the desperation out of his voice. _

_Jenny shook her head sadly, "I was attacked from behind. There was a dark, shadowy figure that I saw, but I couldn't make out any details. It was huge, though, and I think it may have had horns. Do you think it was someone in costume?"_

_John sighed, "From what I've heard, it sounds like it must be someone in costume. Other people have reported that the figure was around ten feet tall, although no one has made out any distinguishing features. Do you remember where you were attacked?"_

"_Yes, I was about four miles down the entrance to the snowmobile path. I could show you, if you'd like," Jenny offered. She hesitated for a moment, then continued, "I could look for him when I go out snowmobiling, or you could borrow my snowmobile if you'd like. It might make the search a little easier."_

"_Thank you, ma'am, I would appreciate that. Please let me know if you find anything or think of anything else. I'll be in touch," John said, handing Jenny a business card with his fake name and real phone number. _

_Jenny accepted the card and followed John to the door. As he opened it, her eyes narrowed and she inquired shrewdly, "He's not your partner, is he? He's too young to be an FBI agent."_

"_You're right," John nodded, allowing some of his grief to show, "He's my son, my nineteen year old son."_

"_Why would you allow your nineteen year old son to do this?" She asked angrily, "Why weren't you with him?"_

_John sighed, "I was finishing up a case, the one I was injured on. We were moving to this area and Dean wanted to come ahead of me and get my youngest registered for school. He must've caught wind of what was going on here and decided to investigate it himself."_

"_I hope you find him," Jenny replied, squeezing John's shoulder gently. Tears glistened in her eyes as she closed the door. _

SPNDEANSPNSAMSPNDEANSPNSAM

**Tomahawk, Wisconsin, January 31, 1999**

John simply couldn't bear to be in this town anymore. Everyone and everything reminded him of his failure to find his son. As talented and willful as Dean was, John doubted he could have survived this long. Staying here, wondering every day whether Dean was alive or dead, but unable to do anything for him was completely maddening. John had to get out.

Sam was rightfully angry, John had decided. He wasn't sure if he would be able to forgive himself for leaving, but nothing had helped. Jenny hadn't been able to drive her snowmobile yet as she was still recovering from her injuries, but there was no other new information. Just running in the same circles, hitting the same dead ends, endlessly searching for Dean without a hope of finding him.

Then, yesterday John had gotten a call from his friend Joshua. Three people had been found dead, drained of blood in their sleep, in Albuquerque. They couldn't do anything for Dean. Maybe they could save someone else.

SPNDEANSPNSAMSPNDEANSPNSAM

**Tomahawk, Wisconsin, December 26, 1998**

"He's waking up!" A voice exclaimed to his left. Definitely a female voice, Dean decided. Still fuzzy on the details of what had happened since he had left Sam at the motel room, Dean forced his way awake.

He immediately regretted it. The cold was pervasive. Dean felt like a living popsicle and wasn't entirely sure how he could possibly be alive, let alone awake. His entire body ached from whatever had happened to him. His right shoulder was throbbing relentlessly and his face stung. Pushing the pain aside, Dean struggled his way to a seated position as he opened his eyes.

There were five faces staring back at him, four of whom were women. Well, that certainly improved the situation. A glance over their heads to the iron bars behind them, though, put the situation right back at crappy. Dean shifted his arms from his lap to behind him and was disturbed to feel open space between bars. Looking down revealed that, yeah, he was definitely in a giant birdcage. He was also dangling there from the treetop.

Dean quickly returned his gaze to the people surrounding him. It wouldn't do anyone any good if he got himself freaked out by heights, after all. Once he refocused, Dean realized that he recognized these people. The woman to his left was Mallory Caul, a twenty-four year old woman from Aurora, Illinois, who went missing while visiting her grandparents. To her left was Jeremy Hammus, a twenty-five year old man whose family owned a cabin on the lake. The next face belonged to Lauren Hitt, a twenty-year old college student who went to the University of Wisconsin. To her left was Ellie Zwierlein, a sixteen-year old high school student. Finally, to Dean's right was Annabelle Zwierlein, the eighteen-year old sister of Ellie and another student of the University of Wisconsin.

"How are you feeling," Mallory asked, lightly touching Dean's shoulder. Her chestnut hair was pulled back in a ponytail and her cheeks were pink with cold. She had a small, slightly upturned nose that was red. She had sounded a bit nasally, indicating that she probably had a cold. No surprise, really, if they were being kept ten feet off the forest floor in the middle of winter.

Dean answered, "Awesome. I love waking up in a cage while freezing my ass off. Any idea what day it is?"

"I think it's Christmas, maybe the day after," Ellie chimed in, auburn curls bouncing lightly over her shoulders as she titled her head to the side, "I've been trying to keep track, but I'm not completely sure when I woke up. I know we were taken on the twelfth and it's been thirteen days, but you've been out for three, and Anna and I don't know how long we were out for, so I could be wrong."

"Three days!" Dean exclaimed in horror. He couldn't believe he had been gone for so long. Sammy must be freaking out by now. Hell, Dad should've been here already. Where the hell was the cavalry?

Jeremy nodded in confirmation. He glanced at Mallory before adding, "We saw you get caught. The next morning, we saw some people following the trail. Two older guys and a kid that looks like he's in high school. You know them?"

"Yeah, if the kid was tall with shaggy hair, that's my brother. The guys with him were probably my dad and his friend, Caleb, but I'm not sure if they would've been in town yet," Dean replied, eyebrows furred in concentration. "You said you saw everything?"

Jeremy nodded again, the sun shining off his bald head. Jeez, if Dean was cold, that guy must be freezing. At least Dean had some hair. Lauren tucked her blonde hair behind her ear as she looked down and added, "We shouted to you, but you didn't look up. We tried again when we saw those guys, but they didn't notice us either. It was weird, though. We could hear them just fine."

"Ha, yeah," Jeremy jumped in again, "they're pretty good trackers. Figured out what went down when the beast could up with you."

"The beast?" Dean laughed, "Any idea what it is? I don't really remember much after it caught up with me."

"The Devil," Anna declared quietly, eyes haunted. Dean's eyes snapped to the woman with concern while her sister, Ellie, put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her in tightly. "That's what it looks like, doesn't it? And its evil, it enjoys hurting us and hurting them, whatever they are."

Dean snapped his head toward where Anna had gestured behind him and saw a second cage dangling from a neighboring tree. Instead of humans, there were…well, Dean wasn't sure what they were. Midgets with wings? Fairies? Either way the tallest only reached three feet and they looked like perfect, glowing, mini-humans with wings. There were eight of them over there, none of which were speaking. They all just huddled together and stared off to the north.

"Hey!" Dean called, hoping to get some information from the supernatural beings that were in pretty much the same situation as Dean. They ignored him completely. Dean's five fellow humans all hid smiles when he turned back. "What?" Dean growled.

"We've all tried," Ellie replied, smile shifting to a more sympathetic expression. "Either they don't understand us or they don't want to talk to us, but either why they've never answered. Kinda rude, isn't it?"

Mallory shrugged, glancing over at the…whatever they were…and back at Dean, "They can talk. I'm not sure about English, but they've been speaking in Arabic to the leader of the beasts. They call him Aherman. He's the one who took you. There are six others, though."

Dean's eyebrows rose in surprise, "Six? That's not good. So whatever they are, Aherman is the leader, he speaks Arabic, and he likes abducting people. Well, he likes abducting people he thinks are attractive."

Lauren laughed self-depreciatingly, "Or at least he likes collecting people that resemble larger versions of those fairy guys. And he likes shiny objects. Maybe he's an Arabian dragon. Anyone here still a virgin?"

Dean laughed and waggled his eyebrows, but shook his head, "Nah, probably more like some kind of Middle Eastern demon. What the hell are they doing in Wisconsin, though?"

"Beats the hell outta me," Mallory responded grumpily, "I don't see why anyone wants to be in Wisconsin. I was going to move to Arizona before this whole mess. Snow sucks."

"Yep! It's weird that something from an arid area would want to live in the cold. Doesn't seem to bother it, though," Ellie piped up. She was practically bouncing with energy. Thirteen days trapped in a cage would do that to you, though, especially if you were a teenager.

Dean just nodded, searching the surrounding area and reluctantly looking down at the ground. He was surprised to see his weapons duffle sitting there, right at the bottom of a neighboring tree with a small heap of glittering objects. His eyes brightened as he asked, "Any chance they ever let us out of here? Where are they, anyway?"

"They let the girls out," Jeremy replied, not looking thrilled that he hadn't been allowed out. From what Dean remembered, Jeremy had been missing the longest. He had vanished over Thanksgiving.

Mallory coughed to clear her throat, "Women, dumbass, not girls. And its not like they let us out to have fun. Or at least, they don't let us out for us to have fun." At Dean's raised eyebrow, she continued, "They make us sort through the trinkets they bring back and usually they make us polish stuff. Sometimes they'll have us polish their swords. And they watch us. It's creepy. They like to throw in random abuse, too."

Dean winced, not wanting to imagine what "random abuse" from a friggin' ten-foot monster would be. He met Mallory's eyes, "Is there any chance you could smuggle a weapon up here from my duffle next time you're down there? Preferably the taser?"

"Why did you have a taser?" Ellie asked in bewilderment, "Why did you have a bag full of weapons? Who the hell are you?"

"I'm a hunter," Dean explained, "I was looking for you, all of you."

"What kind of hunter carries a bag full of weapons including a taser?" Jeremy asked, "Everyone I know just brings their gun, some ammo, and a knife or two. Or a bow and arrows, depending on their preferences. And you didn't answer the question about who you are."

"Hi, my name's Dean!" Dean introduced himself mockingly, "I hunt monsters with my family. We've all been caught by a monster. With any luck, I can get us out of here. The problem is, whats-his-name didn't even flinch when I shot him. Or when I stabbed him. Therefore, taser."

"It was a reasonable question, jackass," Jeremy muttered. Dean glanced around and everyone was looking a bit miffed. Well, everyone except for Anna who had curled herself into a ball earlier in the conversation and just didn't seem to be paying any attention. Dean sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, "Sorry."

Mallory's expression softened slightly, "I can try to get your taser, but I can't make any promises."

"No!" Anna yelled from where she leaned against the bars of the cage, "You can't make them angry!"

Dean watched her begin to cry with no small degree of alarm. He hated it when people cried and she seemed abnormally scared of upsetting their captors. Well, abnormally scared compared to the other people in the cage. People always got freaked out when something supernatural was involved. He met Ellie's eyes and raised an inquiring eyebrow. She mouthed back "later." Dean nodded. He met Mallory's eyes and she just shrugged and nodded.

"So, where'd they go, anyway?" Dean asked as his eyes wandered up and down the bars of the cage, "And how do you get out? I'm not seeing a lock."

Jeremy gestured to the north, "They went that way. The fairy guys usually watch for them. They'll start going crazy when the other monsters get back. As for getting out, they just reach in and grab you. The bars don't affect them or you if they're touching you. Other than that, no one has found a way out."

"Any idea what they're doing out there?" Dean asked, biting his lip as he tried to puzzle out what the monsters could be and how to get away from them. Jeremy just snorted and shook his head. None of the others had any suggestions, either. Great. Maybe when they came back they'd spark a memory of something he'd read about while researching. Dean hadn't read a lot about Middle Eastern supernatural fuglies, though, so he wasn't holding out much hope.

Silence fell over the group as they sat there, probably all trying to figure out a way out of this mess. Dean leaned back against the bars and hoped that Sammy and Dad were okay. He would find a way out sooner or later.

SPNDEANSPNSAMSPNDEANSPNSAM

**Tomahawk, Wisconsin, December 28, 1998**

Two days later, the monsters finally returned. They were some seriously ugly sons of bitches, too, now that Dean could see them more clearly. That was odd, in and of itself. Why hadn't he or any of the victims been able to see the stupid things clearly before? A dark-blue skinned, ten-foot tall humanoid figure with clawed hands and feet, with a long, cow-like tail, two twisting horns, a large, relatively flat, pierced nose, pierced pointed ears, and a friggin' giant sword strapped across its back was a much better description than a "dark, shadowy figure."

The leader was a good foot taller than the others and it barked an order to them in Arabic. One at a time, the monsters reached into the cage to grab a human. The women went first, then Jeremy was grabbed, much to his surprise, and the leader took Dean out last. Awesome. Each monster had its own human to torment. This should be fun.

The leader dropped Dean to the ground roughly, causing him to land on his ass and glare up at the monster. It smiled viciously, revealing its large, yellow fangs. That was disgusting. Dean pushed himself to his feet and glared up at the beast. It reached into a pouch on its sword's sheath and dropped an odd mix of watches, jewelry, and tree branches on Dean. After brushing some pine needles out of his hair, Dean crossed his arms over his chest and glared defiantly at the monster.

"Clean!" It ordered, shoving Dean roughly. When Dean failed to move, the monster swatted him, claws tearing his side open and the force of the blow knocking him into a tree.

Unwilling to show weakness, Dean pulled himself up and ignored the blood running down his side. Yeah, his right side was rapidly becoming one giant wound. That sucked. He stumbled his way back to the pile and started wiping the jewelry off with his shirt. The tree branches confused him, though. He glanced over at Ellie, who was the closest. She was making a wreath out of her branches and attaching the jewelry. Dean let out an annoyed huff and set about making his own messed up Christmas wreath.

As he worked, Dean glanced around and saw that Mallory was settled right next to his weapons duffle. One of the midgets with wings yelled something. It must've been bad, because all of the monsters looked at it and the closest monster punched the cage sending all of the fairy guys spinning. While they were distracted, Mallory reached into the duffle and pulled out Dean's taser. She tucked it carefully under her tattered jacket and nodded at Dean before returning to her project.

The leader eyed his human captives suspiciously when the cage slowed its spinning. Apparently the show was over and he was hoping for more entertainment. With none forthcoming, he began poking Dean's injuries with a clawed finger. After a particularly sharp jab, Dean grunted in pain and glared at the monster. It smirked back and seized Dean's jacket. Confused, but unwilling to be held by his jacket, Dean shrugged it off. Bad choice.

The monster threw Dean's jacket into the pile with his weapons duffle. When he made a move to retrieve it, the son of a bitch grabbed his head and pushed down until he was kneeling. Dean's neck ached from the odd angle it had been pulled at and he felt trails of blood running down his face from the creature's claws. With a final jerking motion, the monster released Dean. He returned to his project, eyeing the monster angrily while he shivered violently. At this point, Dean was only wearing a flannel shirt and undershirt and it was still friggin' cold here. He was surprised he hadn't died of hypothermia already, but now it was pretty much a sure thing. Then again, no one had died from starvation or dehydration yet and Dean had yet to see food or water here. Maybe it was more mystical crap like the way the monsters could reach through the bars or how no one could see the giant cages or piles of trinkets in this area of the woods. Friggin' supernatural crap.

After a few hours of assembling wreathes and being poked and slapped and generally harassed by the monsters, the captives were returned to their cage. The monsters turned their attention to the fairy guys. They were decidedly more vicious, holding the creatures still and jabbing them with red-hot pokers, sticking individual claws straight through various parts of the little guys' bodies. Dean actually felt sorry for the little supernatural guys. Eventually the fairy guys started singing and the monsters got bored.

"So what's the plan?" Mallory whispered, watching the monsters to make sure they weren't listening. All of them appeared to be asleep.

Dean shrugged, "Still working on it. Do they ever separate so there is only one of them here? And would they take us out then?"

"Not so far," Ellie replied, shaking her head. She met Dean's eyes, "Got any other ideas?"

Dean narrowed his eyes in concentration. After a minute, he suggested, "Next time we're out, I'll distract them. While they're looking away, you guys can quietly slip off. I'll use the taser on the closest one once their attention drifts and hopefully it'll hurt that one enough that I can get a head start."

"Right," Jeremy scoffed, "we're just supposed to run off and leave you here. How old are you, anyway."

"Twenty six," Dean lied, hoping they would drop the issue. Ouch, maybe not. Everyone was giving him an "are you kidding me" look. Dean rolled his eyes, "Nineteen, but I'm an adult and I do this for a living. You don't, so you get the hell out of here as soon as I distract them."

"You honestly expect us to just ditch you?" Mallory asked incredulously. "You're the second youngest person here. We're not going to do that. Even if you do this for a living you only have a year of experience."

Dean crossed his arms over his chest and glared, "I've been doing this since I was in middle school and I've known about it since I was four. I think I can do my damn job."

Jeremy held up his hands in a surrendering gesture, but met Mallory's eyes when he thought Dean wasn't looking. There was a good chance they would try to do something stupid if Dean ever did get a chance to enact his plan. Rather than confronting them about it, Dean just held out his hand, "Could I have my taser?"

Mallory scowled and handed it over. Dean thanked her and put it in the waistband of his pants because he no longer had big enough pockets to hide it.

SPNDEANSPNSAMSPNDEANSPNSAM

**Tomahawk, Wisconsin, February 2, 1999**

Unfortunately, the monsters hadn't allowed their captives out of the cage since the end of December. They hadn't brought any new captives in, either. They seemed oddly content to stay at their camp and torment the captives they already had.

Dean and his fellow captives had grown increasingly emaciated from the lack of food provided by the monsters. Occasionally one of the monsters would let one of the women out of the cage and usually whoever was free would try to gather anything edible that they could find. So far, that had pretty much just been tree bark because it was winter. At this point, Dean would kill for a hamburger. Pie sounded so amazing it nearly brought tears to his eyes. He'd craved pie so badly on his birthday it wasn't funny. God, he missed pie.

Oddly, the monsters didn't seem to be eating anything, either. They would grow increasingly vicious, have a day of torturing the captives, and be perfectly monster happy afterward. Dean figured they fed off pain and other negative feelings, kind of like how Djinn lived off people's happiness when their wish was fulfilled. Maybe these were the unhappy relatives of the Djinn? He thought Djinn were from Arab mythology. Maybe if Dean could get out of here and find a book about Djinn, these creeps would be in there, too.

Today the monsters looked especially vicious. _Great_, Dean thought_, it's feeding time for the monsters. Another fun-filled day of torture._

The leader approached the cage with its subordinates following. He reached in and clamped his fingers, claws extended, into Dean's sides. Dean froze in a silent scream as he was skewered.

Ellie screamed as Dean was pulled out of the cage, blood dripping from his sides and running down the monster's claws. "Leave him alone! Stop! Damn you!" Anna held her younger sister back as she shouted profanities at the beast. Jeremy, Mallory, and Lauren had all leapt forward to help, but Dean shook his head and they stayed in place. No point in disabling everyone, after all.

Dean could feel the claws shifting inside him as he was removed from the cage. A sharp pain indicated that the son of a bitch had probably just punctured a kidney. Dean's head swam from the pain as he slowly lost consciousness. At least he hadn't given them a very good show.

Before Dean reached the dubious safety of unconsciousness, he heard the monster say, "Wake, live." He did. Whatever mojo these monsters had, they could prevent someone from dying, from falling asleep, from moving, from breathing, with a single word. Well, a single word and physical contact anyway. So Dean was stuck, skewered between the monster's claws and unable to pass out. It smiled and squeezed a little harder before ripping its claws out of Dean's sides.

"Heal," It demanded, rubbing something into the bleeding holes that burned. Dean let a brief scream of pain out before he managed to cut it off. He couldn't do anything about the tears streaming down his face though. _Dad! Sammy!_ Dean cried internally, praying they would show up to save him. He felt the burning spread, then turn numb, just like when he was captured. This time, he had been ordered to stay awake. He couldn't pass out! He felt his body becoming increasingly numb, his heart rate and breathing slowed, but he remained conscious. His terror grew as he felt his body shutting down and he wondered what would happen if he died. The monster had only ordered him to stay awake, after all, not to live.

The beast continued to watch, inhaling Dean's fear and pain like it was freshly baked apple pie. Dean felt like he was looking at the world from underwater. Nothing was making sense anymore, he couldn't concentrate, and his pulse had dipped so low he could hardly bear it. Vaguely, he thought he heard voices in the distance. Maybe his fellow captives were trying to help…

"Live," the monster ordered. And Dean did. His pulse returned to normal, he could breathe, and the numbness fled. It was replaced by aching bones and shooting nerve pain, but he was alive. The others were taken out of the cage and thrown roughly in front of more piles of crap the monsters had accumulated. They were ordered to "clean, create," although the will-stripping touch was not included with the words. Dean took a deep breath, hardly ready to go for round two of being a distraction, but unwilling to allow these people to suffer for another month before they were freed.

One of the fairy guys howled and launched something (a spear?) toward the leader. The other fairy guys joined in, yelling in Arabic and pelting the monsters with random objects. The monsters stormed over to their cage and, for a few moments, completely forgot about their human captives. Dean gestured for everyone to run. Anna led the way, desperate to escape and far more knowledgeable of the area than anyone else. She had explored the woods frequently with her friends while growing up. Dean brought up the rear, wielding his taser in case any of the monsters got close and hoping that it would have more of an effect than the gun and knife.

They ran faster and harder than anyone in their condition should've been able to run. Apparently have giant, psychotic monsters that feed on pain and fear were good motivation. When Mallory stumbled over a root, Jeremy caught her and kept her up. They both threw glances back at Dean every so often to make sure he was okay. Ellie stayed one step behind her sister, able to keep her motivated. Lauren hung in the middle of the group, focused completely on keeping up with the sisters.

Heavy footsteps grew louder behind them. Dean shot a glance over his shoulder and saw all six monsters following. Not just following, gaining. Dean resisted the urge to groan. This situation was far too familiar for his comfort and it hadn't ended well for him last time.

"Faster!" Dean yelled, trying desperately to pick up his own pace. Anna and Ellie burst into a faster pace like runners seeing the finish line, but Lauren had already been going as fast as she could. Mallory and Jeremy were shouting encouragements to her, tried grabbing her arm to pull her along, but she couldn't keep up with the new pace. Dean slowed to match her. The monsters were gaining.

"When I say go, I need you to run faster than you ever have before, okay?" Dean instructed, hoping Lauren could manage it. She nodded breathlessly. Dean caught Jeremy's eye as the man glanced back again and glanced back and forth between him and Lauren. Jeremy grunted out an "I've got her" and slowed down to run next to her.

When the monster had gained enough ground to almost reach him, Dean turned quickly, darting toward the monster, and fired the taser. The monster howled and tripped, briefly blocking the path of the other monsters. Dean spun back around and darted in a different direction from the group. The monsters followed, leaping over the fallen monster's body, fueled by the fury that he had dared to harm their leader.

Dean ran as fast as he could, trees whipped past his face, but he couldn't get any significant distance between himself and the monsters. Instead, he spotted a small, hollowed area between the trees and the ground. He squeezed himself in and had to muffle a triumphant whoop when they passed him. Once they had vanished from his view, Dean darted back toward where the group should be based on the direction they had been running. His muscles screamed as he pushed himself faster.

"Dean!" Jeremy when he came into view. The former captives had slowed down to a jog, clearly exhausted. Dean looked to Anna and asked, "How much further?"

"We're almost there," she answered, squinting at the trees to the east, "we should be able to see the road soon."

"Great!" Dean responded, "Let's go."

They almost made it. They could see the road and the cars driving by. Anna let out a delighted laugh and bounded forward, Ellie on her heels. Just before she hit the tree line, two large forms blocked the path to the street. Two more converged from the left and right. Dean spun around, desperate not to be boxed in, but it was too late. Two monsters followed from behind. "Scatter!" Dean yelled, hoping at least a few of them would make it out of the trap.

They caught Anna first. "Her" monster grabbed her as she tried to dart left. It held her in place and asked the leader something in Arabic. After what Dean assumed was an affirmative answer, the monster slammed Anna into the ground and sliced her stomach open. Anna sobbed as she tried to hold her intestines in her body, but she was fading fast. The monster grinned maliciously, "Wake, live, no heal." And she did. Anna lingered in agony, watching the rest of the group fall.

Ellie was taken next. The monster pinned her to the ground with a claw through her throat. Unlike her sister's monster, Ellie's monster killed her immediately. The monster simply said, "Die." Anna sobbed harder at the loss of her sister.

Lauren was caught by the two monsters to the right and torn in half as the monsters fought over who would get to keep her. She died almost immediately thereafter because neither told her to live soon enough.

Dean had tried to dart forward to help, but Jeremy shoved him backward and to the right toward the gap between monsters. The leader noticed and moved to intercept him. The taser didn't have another charge in it and Dean's bluff in pointing it at the monster didn't work. Dean gripped it tighter and tried to outmaneuver the giant monster, but was caught by the collar of his shirt. The monster spun him around to watch.

Jeremy and Mallory stayed together and fell together. Two monsters converged to punch them to the ground. Jeremy tried to shield Mallory with his body, but the monsters continued with a barrage of punches, shattering nearly every bone in Jeremy's body and crushing Mallory's rib cage. They, too, were allowed to die.

The leader jerked Dean to his feet before pushing him face first into a tree. Roots shot up from the ground to wrap around Dean's hands and the tree, binding Dean in place. It broke a large branch of the tree, heedless of the smaller branches and pine needles still attached, and began whipping Dean with the branch. The smaller branches stabbed into Dean's back like knives and pine needles were imbedded in his skin. Dean felt his ribs crack, one at a time, and felt one puncture his lung. As Dean began choking on his blood, the leader paused to stab a claw between his shoulder blades and give the order to "live, wake."

Dean couldn't pass out, he couldn't die, and he couldn't breathe. He saw Anna in a similarly miserable predicament, still trying to hold her guts in. The monsters laughed chillingly before wrapping the two remaining humans tightly in tree roots and dragging them back to their cage. The bodies of their slain friends were left behind.

SPNDEANSPNSAMSPNDEANSPNSAM

**Blue Earth, Minnesota, February 3, 1999**

Jim Murphy turned on his computer to check the news from Tomahawk on the off chance that something about Dean would turn up. Over the weekend Caleb had passed through the small Wisconsin town again to check for signs of Dean, but found nothing unusual. As the computer loaded slowly, Jim poured himself a cup of coffee in the kitchen.

When he came back, the computer had finally completed its start up process and Jim connected to the internet. After his homepage had finally loaded, he entered the website address for the local Tomahawk paper.

**Four Missing Persons Found Dead**, the newspaper declared as soon as it loaded. Jim covered his mouth as he gasped and scrolled down quickly, praying Dean wouldn't be among the dead. He wasn't. The newspaper listed Ellie Zwierlein, Lauren Hitt, Jeremy Hammus, and Mallory Caul as the bodies identified. Ellie's death was the least shocking with a puncture wound through her neck. She would've died instantly. Lauren Hitt's death sounded quick, but gruesome, as the girl had been torn in half. The other two, Jeremy and Mallory, had been beaten to death. Worst of all, whatever had done this still had Dean.

The article also mentioned injuries sustained since the victims had disappeared and their emaciated forms. The medical examiner expressed some surprise that they had lived long enough to die from their injuries. Jim cursed under his breath and picked up the phone to call John.

"_Hello,"_ Sam's cautiously hopeful voice answered.

"Hi Sam, its Pastor Jim. Is your father there?" Pastor Jim asked. John needed to know, but he didn't want to burden Sam with the knowledge of what had happened to the monster's other victims.

"_No, he's at the library. Did you hear anything about Dean? Did he come back? Is he okay?" _Sam asked rapidly.

Jim sighed heavily, "I haven't heard anything about Dean, but a few of the missing persons turned up. They were dead."

"_But Dean wasn't with them, right?_" Sam asked desperately, "_So he's probably still alive right?"_

"I hope so, Sam,"Jim answered gently, "but you should know they weren't in very good condition even before they died. Dean might need some time to recover if we find him."

Sam let out a relieved laugh_, "That's fine, just as long as he's okay. Was there anything helpful on the bodies or some indication of what killed them?"_

"Not from what I've read. They all died differently so whatever it is, it doesn't make a distinctive kill. I just read about it, though, so I haven't had time to examine the bodies yet. Please tell your father to call me when he gets back," Jim explained.

"_Okay_," Sam agreed. He continued, "_Thanks for letting me know, Pastor Jim. I hope you can find him."_

"You and me both, Sam," Jim responded, "Be good for your father. I'll talk to you soon."

Jim hung up his phone and packed a few things that he might need in Tomahawk. As he finished loading the truck, he decided to call Bobby as well. Maybe the hunter would have some ideas with the new information.

SPNDEANSPNSAMSPNDEANSPNSAM

**Tomahawk, Wisconsin, February 3, 1999**

The monsters had tossed Dean and Anna back in the cage and left them. The orders to stay awake and alive had not been rescinded so they were stuck, painfully alive and aware, with injuries that should have killed them. Neither could speak. They stared at each other in misery, hoping the orders would wear off soon.

After a few hours that seemed to last an eternity, the monsters returned. They salivated over the pain and despair that overwhelmed their human captives. Dean and Anna's minds had detached from the situation long ago and their distance from reality grew further with every passing minute.

"Heal," the leader finally instructed. Dean felt his ribs pulling themselves back into place. The injuries on his back were closing and he could breathe again. Anna's gash repaired itself as well. From the dead expression in her eyes, Anna was as happy to be alive as Dean.

Losing the physical injuries allowed Dean's mind to focus on what had just happened. He had tried to escape with a plan he knew was likely to fail and had gotten four people, four good people, killed in the process. Dean choked back a sob as he realized that he had gotten Ellie killed. She had only been sixteen, a year older than Sammy. Dean couldn't meet Anna's eyes. From her hysterical weeping, she didn't feel much better than Dean.

_Killer_, a small voice in Dean's mind taunted, _Murderer! You killed them! They trusted you and you got them killed!_

Dean had never hated himself so much in his life, not even when he let his dad and Sammy down on the hunt for the Shtriga. That had also been in Wisconsin. Maybe he should just avoid the state altogether. He always seemed to fail miserably in the dairy state.

As he dwelled on his misery, Dean failed to notice the monsters disappearing again. He didn't notice Anna slipping something out of her pocket until she pulled herself up out of the fetal position she'd been in since they were tossed in the cage.

Dean finally pulled himself out of his mental self-flagellation. Anna pulled a sharp, broken branch out of her sleeve where she must've stashed it back where they had been recaptured. Dean's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "Anna, stabbing them didn't work. What are you doing?"

Her eyes were dead, hollow and smile grim when she replied, "It's not for them."

"No!" Dean yelled as Anna stabbed the branch straight through her throat, just like the injury that had killed her younger sister. They had been given new orders; ones that didn't include "live." She didn't.

**TBC**

**Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy it!**

**Please review!**

Will Pastor Jim find Dean? How will Dean react to losing Anna? What is going on with Sam and John? Find out next time!


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